


Political Animal

by neversaydie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Politics, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Assault, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes: First Gentleman, Bucky Meets The Queen, Closeted Character, Escort Bucky, Escort Service, Feels, Feminization, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Homophobic Violence, Panties, Politician Steve, Politics, Prostitution, Rimming, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:39:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 26,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Congressman Steve Rogers is stuck in the closet because he wants to become President one day. </p><p>Bucky is a high-class escort he has a standing appointment with to blow off steam. This is one of their meetings. </p><p>[smut, panty kink, internalised homophobia on Steve's part, feminisation, everyone caught feelings by accident]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stress Relief

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Political Animal - Translation in Chinese (original work by neversaydie)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765228) by [alabebop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alabebop/pseuds/alabebop)



> Note: Steve's got a whole lot of gender-essentialist ideas internalised here, so they're coming out through his POV.

It's been a long day, and already most of a long night afterwards. Steve slumps down in the back seat and finally loosens his tie, not bothering to give Clint instructions before he starts driving. He's a little buzzed from the latest charity event (was it a gala? He should know that), despite his assistant Natasha's repeated attempts to steer him away from the free champagne, and he's pretty sure his cheeks are numb from all the good picture smiles he's been pulling while having his hand pumped by another bible-bashing weirdo.

He cannot _wait_ for the primaries to be over.

This stage of the Presidential race is always a huge hassle. He gave a statement about Sanders in New York, despite backing Clinton, and he's been trying to put out fires about voter turnout and rigged machines ever since. He can't wait for the end of the whole thing, quite frankly, because the next time he gets this stressed it had better be for his own campaign for the White House or he's quitting. The fact he says that every time means nothing, he insists each individual time Natasha rolls her eyes at him and pencils in 'quit' to his schedule, this time he’s serious.

He lets out a slightly too-loud sigh and sinks back into his seat, watching the darkened city roll by the window without really looking at it. He knows this area without watching it, every bodega and café and run down store, and it's much more calming than the brightly-lit fundraiser had been. Steve's good at swanky now, wears a suit like he was born in it and has all his social niceties and conversation tricks down pat, but it's not his default the way New York at night is.

Clint catches his eye in the rear view mirror, and he must look more tired than he feels because they pause at the next intersection.

"You want me to cancel your appointment, sir?"

Clint is ostensibly his second assistant, that's what it says on payroll, but Steve's come to think of him more like his handler over the last few years. He pulls Steve's ass out of the fire, cleans up his messes, and basically keeps enough secrets that Steve's confident he could kill a man and all Clint would ask is how he wanted him to get rid of the body. He's ex-military of some kind, some nebulous black-ops that he'll only call _classified_ , so he also saves Steve from having to drag around a bodyguard whenever things get particularly hairy in the city.

He'll be a great Chief of Security at the White House one day, Steve's counting on it.

"No, thanks. I could do with blowing off some steam." He lets his head roll back to rest against the soft leather seat and closes his eyes, just for a second. "You texted earlier, right?"

"Yep. She's waiting for you." Clint confirms, turning down a street that takes him in the opposite direction of Steve's townhouse. The pronoun doesn't make him flinch, not anymore, not when it's so important to keep up appearances.

It's not like he's gay, or whatever. He can't be gay if he wants to be President one day, not in a country that seems to be on the verge of electing _Trump_ so they don't have to have a female Head of State. He needs to get married within the next four years to keep on schedule for his future campaign, for goodness sake, and he's already paid out enough hush money to drunken college conquests to get his head on straight (in the least literal sense of the word). So no more guys, no more hook-ups, and definitely no more boyfriends.

He pulls out his phone and thumbs open the bland lock screen, the neutral picture of his dog that nobody can get a glimpse of and read anything into but wholesomeness. He scrolls through his contacts for a second before turning off the screen again, because he must be drunker than he thought if he wants to call Sam right now. Just another person in the long line of things he loved that Steve gave up for his career, and although Sam said he understood why they couldn't see each other anymore, Steve's pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate a semi-sober call just because Steve _misses_ him.

Steve gave up the right to miss him when he picked the job over them, that's what Sam said the last time Steve had a TV debate with ultra-conservatives and cried down the phone to him after. _'We're not together anymore, go find a wife you can cry on'_. Sam has a new boyfriend now, anyway, a fellow veteran who takes him out to dinner and holds his hand in public and treats him right the way Steve never could in case someone recognised him.

So it's not like he's gay, or anything, but he still wants to call his ex-boyfriend at the drop of a hat. At least he's found someone to work out the stress on, for now.

The hotel they pull up to is nondescript in the way that only very expensive, exclusive establishments can be, with no name above the door and only a logo to indicate where they are. Steve straightens his tie again as he walks into the lobby, not that anyone on staff is badly-trained enough to give him more than a glance before going about their business like they haven't seen him. He's a regular here, and pretty much everyone from the maids to the manager had signed an NDA before the first time he set foot in the building.

Clint and Nat are great like that. Steve definitely needs to pay them more as soon as he goes up in the world.

He takes the sleek, dark elevator to the fifteenth floor, not stopping to pick up a key-card because he doesn't need one. The occupant of room 1505 is only expecting one visitor tonight, and most likely has left the door unlocked like he instructed. Steve turns during the quiet ride to check himself out in the mirrored back of the box, smooths his hair down and wipes a smear of lipstick from an ambassador's wife from his cheek before the door slides open at his chosen floor. It's not like he needs to look good for this, but his dark circles still give him pause before he squares his shoulders and steps out, following the corridor on autopilot.

He's polite enough to knock on the door and give it a couple of seconds before he pushes inside. The suites here are beautiful, luxurious and plush without being ostentatious, and the soft lamplight that meets him glints off the subtle touches of extravagance around the room. Gilt light fixtures, cut-glass drink tumblers, the soft sheen of silky sheets. Not that Steve is paying attention to any of that, as he steps inside and lets the door click closed behind him, because he only has eyes for one beautiful thing in the room right now.

"Hey, sugar." Bucky gets up off the pinstripe couch with a soft smile, padding across the plush carpet to Steve in his bare feet. He always looks genuinely happy to see Steve, crinkles at the corners of his eyes and coyness in the way he tucks his long, dark hair behind his ear as he looks up at him.

He's only wearing a dress shirt, oversized on his slim frame, and it makes Steve suck in a breath to realise that it's his. He'd lent it to Bucky once, back when they'd only had a few clandestine meetings like this and Bucky's t-shirt got ruined by a particularly messy load Steve had been saving up to blow all over his face. The kid had picked up his clothes after they were done, hours later, and looked momentarily so crestfallen at the prospect of leaving in an obviously cum-stained shirt that Steve had slipped his over Bucky's shoulders without a second thought. It wasn't like he didn't have spares in the car in case of tipsy Senators and their wine glasses, and he couldn't just let the kid keep looking all pinched around the mouth like that.

He didn't realise Bucky _kept_ the white button-up, but Steve's definitely not complaining. It certainly adds to the atmosphere he's after.

"Miss me?" Bucky's voice is light but a little rougher than usual, and Steve shoves down the tiny spark of jealousy at the idea that other men might have been fucking his mouth today. He knows Bucky keeps their appointment days exclusively for him now, he sure as hell pays him enough.

"Always." Steve lets his guard down, breathing out and relaxing his shoulders as he rests his hands on Bucky's waist. His slender waist, even leaner since Steve started commenting about how he could nearly wrap his big hands around it if he really tried and how much he _liked_ that. Bucky reaches up and drapes his arms around Steve's neck, cocking his head coquettishly as he smiles.

He's got faded dark smears under his eyes, just a hint of them like he was wearing makeup before he came here. Steve knows he does for some clients, Bucky's described the eyeliner and mascara and the hint of shiny red lipgloss that makes his mouth already look well-fucked, in case that was something Steve wanted from him too. He'd passed on the offer, though, because even bare-faced Bucky has fine enough features that if he squints the smallest bit he could convince himself he's looking at a woman. And Bucky does make one hell of a beautiful woman.

"God, you're more gorgeous every time I see you." Steve pulls Bucky flush against him, and that ends the illusion of him having a woman in his arms because Bucky's all lean muscle and firm chest and there's nothing soft or delicate about him this close. Steve still feels guilty, somewhere deep in his stomach, about how much he likes it.

"I'm already a sure thing, Mr Congressman. You don't have to seduce me." Bucky ducks his head like he's shy, and even though he knows it's a damn lie it makes Steve's dick twitch and hold him tighter.

They've been doing this for a long time now, a couple of years at least. It started shortly after Steve and Sam broke up, when his attempts to date campaign-appropriate potential wives had invariably ended in disaster and he was starting to get depressed about the way his life swung between home and the office with nobody in-between. He'd confessed to Clint, after another press-the-flesh event with a slightly too-open bar, that he wasn't sure if he _could_ be intimate with a woman at this point. So the number of a discreet, high-class escort agency had been procured, Steve's preferences communicated under a false name, and he'd turned up to a very expensive hotel with a condom in his pocket and sweaty palms.

Except there had been a wire crossed somewhere along the way, because instead of a beautiful young woman waiting for him on the bed, Steve opened the door to a beautiful young _man_.

And, well, he'd been pretty sexually frustrated at that point and he's not made of _stone_. They've met up every couple of weeks ever since. Just to keep Steve sane and not hooking up in club bathrooms, of course. It's still not like he's gay, or anything. It's just stress relief.

"Maybe I want to seduce you." Steve takes one hand off Bucky's waist to cup his cheek, pulling him into a soft kiss that heats up with little preamble. Things are familiar between them now, comfortable, the way Steve and Sam used to know each other's bodies without looking and sex became like coming home.

Except it's not like that here, because Bucky's paid to not say no and to make sure Steve is satisfied in every way he wants.

(Except sometimes it feels like they've crossed some kind of boundary there, moved into something that maybe they shouldn't have. Like how occasionally they spend the night together without having sex, when Steve is really tired and stressed about his constituency and Bucky listens to him rant and runs him a bath and spoons up behind him in bed so he can feel small and cared for. Or like the time Steve wanted to try choking Bucky during sex, just to see what people liked about it, and Bucky told him _no_ without hesitating for a second. And then told Steve about his crappy ex-boyfriend who'd been too rough with him, not for sympathy but to explain, and Steve had been silently really, really angry that someone did that to Bucky. His Bucky.

His Bucky? Well, shit.)

"Did you get my presents?" It's not like Steve thinks he's some kind of sugar daddy, or anything. It's just, sometimes he really likes giving Bucky things that make him smile. Frivolous things that he wouldn't buy for himself, mostly, like the pretty underwear he likes or the dumb expensive sneakers he admitted he was trying to emulate with the cheap knock-offs he'd been wearing when they met. The look on Bucky's face, the wonderful surprise and joy when he gets a gift, is more than worth the price tag to Steve.

This time he'd had his gifts delivered to Bucky's apartment (Steve doesn't know his address, of course, the escort agency handled it), because he'd mentioned finishing up some big college project the last time they met and Steve wanted to congratulate him. Not like he was proud of Bucky, or anything, just. College is hard and it's always nice to know someone sees you working hard. And he was going to benefit from the presents just as much as Bucky was, if not a hell of a lot more.

"I got 'em." Bucky pulls back a little and bites his lip, shifting his weight again like he's this side of shy instead of totally brazen like Steve knows him to be. The act works, though, because Steve finds himself smoothing his hand over Bucky's side like he's skittish, like he needs to be touched gently and cared for. "You wanna see?"

"Show me, baby." Steve drinks in the view as Bucky slowly unbuttons the crisp white shirt, easing it off his shoulders until it slips down to pool on the carpet around his feet.

He's left in panties, the soft, charcoal-grey lace ones with delicate pearl detailing right around the waistband, and the matching suspender belt that made Steve's mouth go dry when he picked it out. The stockings carefully hooked onto the suspender clasps are the same colour, sheer smoke over Bucky's skin, and Steve realises his legs are hairless underneath with a swooping feeling in his gut.

Goddamn. Worth every penny.

"Fuck, that's nice." Steve pushes Bucky's shoulder lightly to get him to turn around, letting out a long, low breath at the sight of his ass filling out those little panties just perfectly. "You're the most beautiful thing I ever saw, I swear."

"I told you, you don't have to butter me up." His tone is light, but there's something underneath it that almost gives Steve pause for a second, at least until Bucky is backing up against him so his ass and _those panties_ can press into Steve's clothed crotch. "One of these days I'm gonna think you're getting sweet on me."

"I am sweet on you. I could eat you all up." Steve wraps an arm possessively around Bucky's waist, brushing his long hair to the side so he can mouth kisses to his neck. Bucky smells clean, no body spray or cologne as per Steve's request (because it makes it easier to convince himself he's thinking of Bucky as a woman when he doesn't smell too much like man, which is already a losing battle), and Steve can't resist biting at his pulse, just the scrape of teeth is enough.

Bucky gasps and presses back into Steve harder, practically grinding up against him because his neck is a weak spot and Steve _knows_ that, and Steve smirks at the reaction. He likes to feel powerful with Bucky, gets off on how he's smaller and slender and Steve can hold him down and fuck him without even breaking a sweat and he just has to take it. There are so many external forces battering at Steve's orchestrated life that he feels totally out of control sometimes, but in the soft lamplight of this haven, he's king.

"Yeah, I know you want it." He murmurs, pressing a kiss behind Bucky's ear as he glances down to see him starting to strain under the delicate fabric of his panties. And isn't _that_ nice. It kind of ruins the whole 'trying to pretend Bucky's a girl' lie that Steve's still half-heartedly attempting to convince himself of, though, so he guiltily moves back a fraction and pushes him to his knees. "Get me hard, baby."

Bucky doesn't need to be told twice, nuzzling at Steve's crotch for a moment before unfastening his pants with practiced movements. He knows what Steve likes here, gets his pants and underwear down just enough to pull him out because he likes being clothed while Bucky's naked beneath him. Steve's stomach makes that weird swoop again when Bucky rucks up the bottom of his shirt enough to suck a kiss to his hipbone, because it's the intimate move of someone who knows his body like the back of their hand, someone who knows what the little gesture does to him.

So of course he tangles his fist in Bucky's loose hair and forcibly directs his mouth back to his cock, because Steve didn't come here to _feel_ things (did he?).

"No hands, I just want your mouth." Bucky lets Steve pretty much move his head for him, swallowing him down like the pro he is when he hits the back of his throat. It doesn't take long for Steve to be fully hard, not when Bucky's looking up at him like that with a flushed face and hollowed-out cheeks, lips slick and shiny around his cock.

Steve pulls him off his dick and Bucky lets out a whine like he doesn't want to let it go, and that makes Steve drag him up into a bruising kiss because fuck, he's so good. They back up to the bed without breaking the kiss, until Steve shoves Bucky down onto the lush covers and he goes willingly, flicking his tongue over his now-swollen lips as he sprawls out. Ready and waiting for Steve to use. He doesn't bother to take his clothes off before he follows.

The lube and condoms are already on the nightstand, as always, and Steve wastes no time flipping Bucky over and exploring the smooth, muscled planes of his back as he fumbles a condom with one hand and his teeth. The lingerie looks incredible against his pale skin, and Steve can't help but stroke himself a few times as he feels the contrast of lace and soft skin under his fingers, revelling in the way Bucky's breath hitches and he pushes back into the touch like he's desperate for more. Bucky's always desperate for him, or at least does a great job of creating the illusion, and Steve would be lying if he said he didn't love it.

"Gonna leave these on while I fuck you." Steve murmurs, easing the panties down enough to give him access and letting the elastic snap against Bucky's ass just to hear him hiss. He yanks him up onto his knees, and is just slicking his fingers up when he gets a look at Bucky's hole. His stomach makes that swooping flip again when he sees it's already slick. "What's this, huh?"

"I didn't wanna… I knew you wouldn't wanna wait. So…" Bucky twists to look over his shoulder a little where his chest is pressed to the mattress, a hint of colour burning high on his cheeks that Steve's not sure is from arousal or embarrassment. It's a good look on him, and Steve pulls his head to the side so he can see more of his face.

"So you got yourself ready for me? You came up here and fingered yourself so you didn't have to wait for my cock?" _That's_ an image that's undoubtedly burned into Steve's spank bank for the rest of time, and he has to stroke himself again to relieve the sudden ache it inspires. He grabs Bucky's hair harder and pulls his head back, just the right side of rough. "Did you get off?"

"No, I was good. I just… I just couldn't wait. Thinking about you." He knows Steve likes him desperate, slutty and craving his cock at all times, and even though it's probably an act Steve can't find the will to complain about it. "I needed something inside me and I… I just figured…"

"Fuck." Steve shoves his face back into the mattress and uses his lubed hand to slick his cock up because Bucky doesn't need more prep. He's already wet and open and willing, and being able to just shove right in and fuck him without having to get him ready is sending urgent bolts of heat through Steve that he can't ignore.

And it's good that he likes it, maybe he's not totally a lost cause when it comes to the whole keeping up appearances thing, because that's how women are supposed to be, right? That's what Steve's always heard and read, even if he doesn't have practical experience beyond a few above-the-waist high school fumblings, that they're wet and it doesn't take too much prep before they're ready to…

And then he pushes into Bucky and every rational thought in his head just switches straight to a channel of static, because _damn_.

He's worth _every_ fucking penny.

Steve doesn't bother drawing this out, because they have the whole night together and this is only the first round of several if their usual meetings are anything to go by. He uses this one as pure stress relief, grabbing Bucky's hips to hold him in place as he pounds him with all the pent-up energy that's been itching under his skin for the past week. Bucky can't do much more than just hang on for the ride when Steve fucks him like this, fists tangled in the bedsheets and choked-off sounds escaping him with every brutal thrust. Steve grabs his hair and hauls him up so he can see the way Bucky's leaking all over the front of his panties, wet material clinging to the outline of his dick.

"Leaking all over for me, baby? Gonna cream your little panties on my cock?" He nails his prostate with a particularly hard thrust and Bucky straight up wails where he's pulled back and split open and totally trapped by Steve's bulk. "Touch yourself, I wanna feel you come."

Bucky must be a mind reader, because he doesn't pull his dick out to get himself off. Instead, he flattens his palm and rubs himself through the soaked lace, and Steve can almost imagine he's touching his clit. He groans and digs his teeth into Bucky's shoulder when he clenches around his cock and comes, following him over the edge only a minute later. The orgasm whites out his vision for a second, and afterwards he feels boneless all the way down to his toes.

Stress relief. Exactly what he wanted.

Steve pulls out and tosses the condom, not paying Bucky any attention as he peels his sweaty shirt off and finally gets rid of his pants. He feels cleansed now, the edge taken off his pent-up arousal and the smell of rich douchebags replaced by nothing but Bucky on his skin. He finally flops down on the mattress next to Bucky, pressing a careless kiss to his shoulder as he rolls onto his back with a satisfying wince.

"Can I take these off now?" Bucky's face is kind of adorable, nose wrinkled as he holds the now-cold, jizz-soaked panties away from his skin. Steve can't resist kissing him on the forehead, even if it's a weirdly intimate gesture for their relationship, because he looks like a grumpy kitten in his disgust.

"Yeah, 'course." He laughs when Bucky scrambles awkwardly out of the straps and elastic with none of his usual grace, hasty to get the sticky grossness away from his skin. "Want me to get you a towel?"

"Nah, m'good." Bucky tosses the underwear at the unobtrusive black gym bag he always brings to these meetings and stands up, unselfconsciously naked as he digs in the pocket of his discarded jacket. He sinks back onto the bed with a pack of cigarettes and lighter in hand, propping himself up on one elbow and looking Steve up and down for a second before he speaks. "You mind if I say something, Steve?"

He lights a cigarette, fingers back to the delicate, dextrous movements Steve knows them for. They're slender and long, Bucky's fingers, and he once told Steve he almost got a college scholarship to play the piano. Steve thinks about them sometimes when he's jerking off, guilty and furtive when he takes the edge off in the bathroom between meetings, about how they'd feel pressing inside him, opening him up and…

Which is exactly what he's _not_ supposed to be thinking about. Because he's not gay.

"Steve?" Bucky tilts his head to get his attention, and Steve realises he's been zoning out and staring at the cigarette held loosely between Bucky's fingers. He clears his throat and blinks, getting his head back in the room.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"It's just… You know I'm not a woman, honey." Bucky turns his head to at least blow smoke away from Steve, since he's not really supposed to be smoking around him in the first place. It's been one of their rules, set up since the beginning in case Steve had places to be after their meetings, and the fact Bucky's being so brazenly defiant now is odd.

There's sweaty hair clinging to his cheek when he turns back, starting to curl the way it usually does in the afterglow, and several livid bruises starting to deepen on his neck and shoulders, and Steve is hit with another wave of affection that shouldn't be there. He blinks again and shoves it down, because he doesn't know where the fuck this is coming from all of a sudden.

"What?" Steve's voice cracks, because he knows he doesn't need to justify himself to an escort, but Bucky's slowly become more than _just a hooker_ over the last two years. An employee, sure, but a trusted one who's seen Steve at his most vulnerable. One who can talk to him frankly like this, tell him things he doesn't necessarily want to hear without fear of reprisal.

"I mean, you can flip me over and fuck me in pretty panties all you like, but I'm still a man." Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him, but his tone is soft and he doesn't sound angry. "I just wanted to… It's okay for you to like that, y'know. Maybe you need to hear that."

"I… I know that. I know you're…" Steve stutters slightly, reaching out to steal the cigarette from Bucky's fingers and take a drag while he's watched with surprise. He hasn't smoked for years, not since it reminded Sam too much of his tours and he quit to make his boyfriend comfortable, but he needs it right now. "I just. I'm not supposed to… I gotta toe the line. I've gotta be someone people will vote for and…"

"And you like guys. And there's nothing wrong with that." It's such a simple statement, so innocuous and non-judgemental, and Steve feels his chest constrict as he looks at Bucky because fuck. Fuck. "The times, they are a'changing, Mr Congressman."

"Not if I want to be… I-I don't want to talk about work." He chokes out, passing the cigarette back with shaky fingers. Bucky just doesn't understand; there's no way Steve can be on the right side of history until he makes it to the White House. Until then, he just has to play the game and keep his head down.

Bucky doesn't understand. Steve doesn't want him to, in a way, because it's refreshing to be around someone who believes that being true to yourself can be anything but a disadvantage. He used to think like that, once, before the world swallowed him up.

"Okay. I said my piece." Bucky takes a final drag and stubs the smoke out in the cut-glass ashtray on the bedside table, final grey wisps dying in the air as he shuffles down the bed and slides his leg between Steve's. "Will you fuck me?"

"You gotta ask?" Steve snorts, relieved that the conversation is over as he pulls Bucky closer with a hand at the small of his back. His skin is slightly tacky from drying sweat and this is going to be one of those slow, languid fucks that draw him out of his head until he knows nothing but Bucky's skin and the tight heat of him around his cock. He can just tell.

"Can we fuck like this?" Bucky nuzzles Steve's face with all the affection they've built up, like he really cares about him. Maybe he does? Enough to give him a gay pep talk, at least, and Steve's really not sure what to do with that. "So I can see you?"

"I…" Steve swallows hard and eventually nods, not sure why the idea makes him so nervous. He hasn't had sex with anyone face to face since Sam, but it's not like Bucky's some one night stand in a club bathroom. He's not insignificant.

(He's a hooker, something in the back of his mind supplies unhelpfully. He's nothing but a hole to fuck and a drain on your expense account. He's just pretending to give a shit.)

"I haven't, um. Not for a long time." Steve's voice cracks a little, just a little, and then there are Bucky's fingers in his hair, smoothing over the nape of his neck like he's calming Steve down. And it's working, because the tension is seeping back out of Steve's shoulders and he's relaxing into Bucky's arms.

"S'okay. We don't have to if you don't want." He coos, soft and close and creeping through every crack he's made in Steve's walls. At this point, in the low light and soft sheets and the rest of the world locked away, Steve can't remember why he's trying to keep him out. "Just wanna be able to kiss you while you're inside me."

"Jesus. You're persuasive. Oughta get you in office." Steve breathes out against Bucky's lips, slightly awed, and then there's no more talking because they're too busy kissing. Sweet and sloppy and lazy like they have forever, like the clock isn't already ticking.

It's _intimate_. They're inches apart and breathing the same air, and Steve looks Bucky in the eye as he sinks into him with a shiver and Bucky wraps his legs around his waist. They move together, slow and deep until Steve thinks he might go mad with it, heat settling into his bones and curling around his spine, and Bucky's grey eyes shine in the low light as he moans low and shaky. Steve can't help but lean down to kiss him, staying buried deep inside him and just grinding his hips languidly, and it's almost romantic. It's almost like making love.

It's a dangerous thought, but it's the one that finishes Steve off and sends him spilling inside Bucky with a deep groan. He watches Bucky's face as he comes with Steve's hand on his cock a few minutes later, the way his eyes flutter closed and he opens his mouth to cry out silently as his whole body goes rigid. It's… quite possibly the most beautiful thing Steve's ever seen.

Shit.

"Fuck." Steve pulls out and rolls onto his back to look up at the ceiling, no cracks to be found in the white plaster even though they'd feel appropriate right now. "I'm gay."

"No shit." Bucky snorts, voice ragged and pleasantly worn out as he curls into Steve's side. It's hit and miss whether Steve hates himself too much to want to cuddle after they fuck, but today he wraps his arm around Bucky and willingly pulls him to rest on his broad chest. "You're restoring my faith in our elected officials here. Reacting to evidence so quickly and efficiently."

"Shut up, I'm having a revelation." Steve grumbles, and Bucky's answering huff of laughter makes his stomach do something weird again. He's pretty sure they're _bickering_. You don't bicker with someone you pay by the hour to suck you off. "Might have some shit to work out next time we meet up."

"I, uh, about that." Bucky keeps tracing patterns on Steve's chest with his fingertips, skimming gently over his skin just shy of being ticklish, and doesn't meet his eyes when Steve looks down at him questioningly. "Thing is, um. I'm gonna graduate next semester, and I wasn't exactly planning to keep working for the agency after that. I mean, I nearly paid off my tuition and I'm gonna be looking for a real job, so…"

"Oh." He sounds hollower than he means to, like all the air has left his lungs all at once. Steve's never really thought about Bucky giving up working as an escort, he's never known enough about his college course to realise he was this close to graduating.

He can't imagine not seeing Bucky twice a month. It's become one of the only things he looks forward to these days, when the rest of the time he's keeping his head down and his eyes on the eventual, distant prize of the White House. It's not like he couldn't find another escort, even if he didn't want to keep up the pretence of sleeping with a woman this time, but deep down he finds he really doesn't want to.

He wants Bucky. He actually _wants_ him. And there's no way he can have him. Fuck.

"I, um. I've got a few months left, so." Bucky finally looks up at Steve, peeking at him from under his eyelashes and stray strands of hair like he's not sure how what he's got to say will be received. Steve's not entirely sure, but he's fairly convinced the shyness isn't an act, this time. "But I was thinking, maybe I could give you my number? We could get coffee sometime or, y'know, meet up. I mean, if you want."

Oh, Steve _wants_. But he didn't get this far on wanting, and he's got a way to go before he can afford to want again.

"Yeah, I'd like that." Is what he says, because it's not a lie. The disbelieving grin that breaks out over Bucky's face is worth the way his heart squeezes in his chest at the knowledge that he's probably lying to the guy, and Steve makes himself smile back because he _wants_ , he just doesn't know if he _can_.

"That's awesome." Bucky props himself up a little, smiling brightly like he can't believe his luck. Then he freezes at the change in position as his expression rapidly changes to something caught between embarrassment and shock. "Did you forget to use a fucking condom?"  

Bucky's flushed bright red in a way Steve's never seen him before, and it takes a second for him to realise what's happened. Well. Fuck. He's a moron.

"Oh, fuck. I'm sorry!" Steve sits up, suddenly horrified because _that_ was a terrible thing to do to someone. It's not like they're exclusive, and given Bucky's line of work who knows what he just fucking did to _himself_. "I didn't mean to…"

"I'm clean, every thirty days. Please tell me you get tested." All the colour has drained out of Bucky's face in the moment, leaving him white as a sheet against his dark hair, and although Steve is already relieved by what he's saying he doesn't want the guy to pass out on him and hurries to do damage control.

"I haven't been sleeping with anyone but you. I'm clean." He has regular tests since he made a standing appointment with a prostitute, Natasha's orders because there's no way they're having _that_ kind of scandal in the bank, and he's never picked up anything from Bucky so far. From the look on his face, he believes Bucky's just as careful with his own health. "I get tested, I promise. I'm so sorry, I just didn't realise."

"So it's just messy, then. No harm done. Fucking scared me for a second there, asshole." Bucky huffs out shakily, trying to be light and less panicked than he was. He still looks spooked, though, so Steve gingerly pulls him into a kiss and tries to give him some silent reassurance. He'd honestly been so overwhelmed with the idea of fucking Bucky face to face that he'd totally forgotten to be a responsible adult for a crucial second.

That's why he's dangerous, really. He makes Steve forget to be sensible.

"How did you know I, um…?" Oh, he's terrible. He shouldn't be asking this, blurting out the first thing that comes into his head like an idiot. But Bucky looks at him with a slightly incredulous expression for a moment before answering, nonchalant as ever and seemingly calmed by the general awkwardness of normal, standard-issue Steve. At least he's good for something even when he's generally being an asshole.

"You never had a guy blow his load in your ass?"

"No." Steve squirms internally, but his stupid dick is definitely perking up at this line of conversation and, in his defence, his brains are already sex-melted so it's not like he's a totally awful person. Not for this, at least. "I just wondered how it…"

"It leaks out." Bucky informs him, like it's nothing, and… oops. Steve's awful, because the image of his cum leaking out of Bucky when nobody else can tell, that's really doing it for him. It's basically short-circuited whatever's left of his rational brain, not that he minds because he'd rather not think about how close he potentially came to a career-ending STD scandal just now. He'd rather think about how much he wants to watch his jizz leak out of Bucky's loose, fucked out hole.

Steve is officially going to _hell_ , as if he wasn't already.

"Can I… see?" He's pretty sure he's redder than Bucky was a minute ago, can feel the flush spreading all the way down his chest even, and Bucky looks way too amused by it. Steve hides his face in his hair and tries to ignore the way he can feel Bucky's shoulder shaking with suppressed laughter. "Don't laugh!"

"You're just, you're cute. I lo—" Bucky cuts himself off quickly, and Steve pretends he doesn't know what he was about to say because he can't process that right now. He's got meetings to attend and deals to hash out and constituents to disappoint, he can't start feeling things in the time he has to escape. "You weirdo."

"C'mon, lemme see." Steve is still red in the face, but he's recovered enough of his loose limbs to pin Bucky back to the bed and hitch one of his knees up over his shoulder. He pouts and bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly, making Bucky try and hide another giggle. "Please, baby? I wanna look at you."

"Dirty fucker." Bucky mumbles, colouring a little as he lets Steve pull his other knee up. He reaches down to hold his thighs open despite his token protest, lets Steve kiss his way down his chest and abs and then lower, so he can see…

"Oh, fuck." Steve groans at the slick mess before him, dipping his thumb into Bucky's fucked-out hole and biting his lip when another trickle of cum leaks out. "That's… awesome."

"Awesome?" Bucky's trying to be snarky, but he sounds a little breathless himself. He wouldn't be in this line of work if he wasn't something of an exhibitionist, and from the ragged sound of his voice it seems like Steve looking at him like this isn't only working for one of them. "You're a sweet talker, Mr Congressman. You got my vote."

"You ever shut up?" Steve's voice cracks, and he can only hold himself back for a moment before he leans in and licks up the trail of cum leaking out of Bucky. The move is animal impulse more than anything else, and it makes him feel dirty from his head to his toes.

"Holy shit, Steve." It's gasped out in surprise, as Bucky's hips jolt like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Steve licks him again to see the same jerk, the same oversensitive shiver run through his exhausted muscles in the most wonderful way. "God bless America."

Steve rolls his eyes but quickly gets distracted when another trickle of cum leaks out of Bucky's ass for him to chase. He fully intends to lick him (this guy, his guy?) clean, because he might as well indulge himself in the time they have left. The last days of an empire are always the most decadent, after all.

Who knows if they're going to see each other once Bucky quits his escort job in a few months, if they'll get coffee and have clandestine, house-bound dates and Steve will bring himself to dim this wonderful man's light and ask him to love him in secret. Who knows if Steve will miss his future nomination and think _fuck it_ and pick up the phone as the confetti is swept away to call the last guy he actually cared about because his reputation doesn't matter anymore. Who knows if it'll be years in the future, if Steve will be lonely in the White House with his lovely wife and their sexless marriage, and Clint will pass him the number Bucky scrawled on the back of a business card a decade ago and urge him to just call. To take the chance he wouldn't let himself have before.

The only thing Steve knows for certain is tonight. That they have precious few hours until he'll have to leave again, and he's going to make the most of it before he has to go back to the cold, lonely spotlight. Here with Bucky it's warm, and Steve's starting to find it hard to think of reasons to leave. He needs to get himself back on the leash, because he can't let Bucky make him wild when he has a plan to stick to.

He has to stay domesticated as the clock runs down, but his leash is fraying now. It's all a matter of time.


	2. Nomination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This verse is continuing with a series of out-of-order ficlets written on tumblr (@saferforeveryone).

It’s two a.m., the confetti has been swept away, and Steve is sitting on the edge of the stage with a glass of champagne in one hand and his phone in the other. Shellshocked.

He got the nomination. After years of work and sacrifice and sucking political dick to get where he wanted to be, he’s _here_. He’s going to run for President of the United States, and if the polls so far are anything to go by then he’s going to _win_. 

So why isn’t he happy?

“Little overwhelmed, Boss?” Natasha took her heels off once the cameras left hours ago, and she drops them on the stage before hopping up to sit next to Steve. Steve shrugs and slumps over to rest his head on her shoulder, not sure why he’s so bummed out. 

Except he is sure, really, but he won’t let himself think about it. 

“No. Maybe. I dunno.” He sighs when Natasha pets his head affectionately. They’ve been working together for almost as long as he’s been in politics, and sometimes he wonders why they can’t just get married for show and get the whole thing over with. Maybe they will, before he makes his big run on the White House, she’d probably suggest it before him if it would be good for the campaign. 

It would stop the ‘there hasn’t been an unmarried President since James Buchanan’ statements, and all the _implications_ behind that. He’s so sick of the _implications_.

“Do me a favour?” Nat breaks him out of his head and he nods, not bothering to sit up straight again. “Call your boy?”

“You know I can’t.” He does sit up then, rubbing a hand wearily over his eyes because of course he _wants_ to. He hasn’t seen Bucky for months, almost texted or called a thousand times because he _misses_ him like oxygen, but has forced the urge down because it would destroy his chances if anything leaked. 

“But you want to.”

“Of couse I do.” He downs the rest of his drink, not sure why Natasha is tormenting him with this right now. 

“Then I think you should take a look at this.” She hands him her phone, and Steve squints at the document she has onscreen without really taking any of it in because he’s been up for nearly twenty-four hours at this point. 

“What is it?”

“An application to intern for your campaign, from James Barnes.” She swipes through to the attached picture and Steve’s heart just about stops because _oh_. There he is. “You should call and tell him he’s been accepted, he’s probably still up watching the news.”

“I…” Steve gapes, unable to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s smiling, professional resume picture. “I don’t…”

“It’s easier to hide something internally, Boss.” Nat nudges her shoulder against his and then slides off the stage, picking up her heels and phone before leaning to kiss him on the cheek. “You deserve to be happy. Nobody’s gonna vote for you if you look miserable all the time.”

Steve watches her walk away, staring at her back for a long moment because she never ceases to amaze him. He swallows heavily a few times and takes a deep breath before he swipes his phone open, scrolling through his contacts and trying to pretend he can’t see his hand shake. 

He closes his eyes as the call dials, praying it gets picked up. He’s had his head in the sand long enough, it’s time he saw some light. 


	3. Beat the Press

They have pictures. No video, no audio. The images are blurry and dark, taken with an extremely zoomed lens, and with the long, dark hair it’s difficult to tell that the President of the United States is making out with a man. 

Except TMZ already has a photo of Bucky queued up and waiting to go when they break the story. Photos of them smiling at each other. Just enough to create doubt.

“It’s only a matter of time. We haven’t identified the photographer and the networks aren’t talking, we can’t stop the leak.” Natasha woke them up fifteen minutes ago with the news, it’s four a.m. and they’re running against the clock. Bucky looks like he’s about to be sick, sitting curled up in an office chair still in the sweatpants he slept in. 

Steve rests a hand on the back of his neck where he’s standing beside him, feeling oddly calm about the situation. Maybe it’s because he’d always planned to come out at some point, maybe because he knew keeping the secret was inevitable, but he feels more ‘it’s time’ than ‘how do we stop this’. 

“The best we can do is spin Bucky. Expunge his past from the internet as much as possible, get NDAs out _today_ to anyone who didn’t already sign. Most of the dangerous people are already prevented from telling anyone about his past, but…”

Bucky hides his face in his knees with a wounded sound, more hair escaping the messy bun he’d shoved it into blearily when they woke up. This is what he’s been scared shitless about for the last two years, it’s like a nightmare coming true. He’s going to _ruin_ Steve’s presidency for what? A quick kiss in a parking garage?

“Do what you’ve gotta do.” Steve starts rubbing his thumb over the nape of Bucky’s neck, speaking with the authority that made the voters trust him in the first place. “Can we get ahead of the story?”

“That’s up to you.” Natasha meets his eyes and Steve can tell she knew he’d take this route. “You haven’t lied to anyone, you haven’t technically hidden anything, you just haven’t disclosed. They can’t kick you out of office for your sexual orientation. It’ll be dicey, but…”

“Okay. Call a press conference for this morning, I want a draft statement in an hour.” He smiles when Bucky looks at him in shock, because he still feels weirdly calm. He wants this, and he’s spent so much time denying himself what he wants that it doesn’t feel bad to take the harder path, for once. 

“Are you sure?” Natasha knows he is, but she checks in all the same. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I do. I’ve been hiding long enough.” Steve blows out an anxious breath before squaring his shoulders. He can do this, he’s ready. “Alright, guys. Let’s go make history.”


	4. Sneaking Around

“Mr President, you have a call.”

Steve looks up blankly at the staffer, all cheekbones and blue eyes under his short, dark hair, but still fading into the bland background of this stifling office. He raises his eyebrows and glances from the kid to the Secretary of Education and back again, unimpressed with the interruption. 

“Can it wait?”

“I’m sorry, sir. The ambassador is very insistent.” The staffer ducks his head apologetically, and Steve relents with a sigh and stands up. He gives his apologies to the Secretary before he follows the staffer out, keeping a pace behind him until they get to the end of the corridor. 

Steve shoves Bucky into the empty office and locks the door behind them, before he picks his boyfriend up and slams him against the wall with a brutal kiss. 

“I’m working.” He murmurs, not sounding too concerned about it as he nips at Bucky’s jawline. Steve has to be careful since he cut his hair, and that kind of thrills him on top of the sneaking around. 

“Just need you.” Bucky rolls his hips against Steve’s, totally shameless and totally loving being held effortlessly against the wall in their pressed work clothes. “I… I kinda did something.”

“What?” Steve knows what that breathless voice means, and he swallows hard because he has to go back to state business after this. Shit. 

“You remember that plug we got a couple weeks ago?” Bucky bites his lip and Steve presses his forehead to his collarbone with a helpless groan. “Felt empty without you, so I kinda…”

“You’re gonna kill me.” He shakes his head against Bucky’s shirt, rubbing his forehead into his neck. Bucky just grins, because Steve might be the President, but they both know who has all the power here.


	5. Bad John

Steve thought it was just makeup at first, in the low light of the same hotel they always meet in. Most of the lamps were turned off when he came in, the same greeting he always calls out when he’s relieved to be there at the end of the day, relieved to take the edge off the stress roiling under his skin like summer sweat. He’d got a look at the chalky pallor of Bucky’s face, sat on the fancy little couch waiting for him, and frowned. He’s supposed to save these days just for Steve now, not come to him wearing paint leftover from another man. 

“I thought I said-” He reaches out to rub his thumb under Bucky’s eye, smear off the makeup, but Bucky flinches away from the touch like he’s smacked him. Steve freezes as the atmosphere in the room shifts fast enough to give him whiplash. “Buck?”

“Sorry. Lemme make it up to you.” He smiles and starts tugging at Steve’s belt, usually expert fingers fumbling. His hair is loose, hiding even more of his face, but the words are forced enough for Steve to step back and stop him. Reach over to turn one of the lamps on so he can see what’s really going on here.

“Don’t-” The light floods over Bucky’s face, making it far too easy to see the mottled bruises spread across his cheekbones, the way one eye looks swollen like it’s not fully gone black yet, the dark split in his plush bottom lip. Even when he ducks his head to hide, Steve can’t stop staring at the bruises. 

“Oh my god.” He drops to his knees in front of Bucky, not fully aware of the movement, and lifts his chin gingerly because he doesn’t know what will hurt. Bucky doesn’t meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at his client’s face. “Who did this to you?”

“Some guy.” Bucky seems to shake himself, remember that Steve is a _client_ and not somebody he needs to feel ashamed in front of, and looks him in the eye defiantly. “Not today. I didn’t break your rules.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” Steve would be surprised at this own words if he wasn’t so suddenly, blindingly angry that someone _beat_ Bucky. ( _His Bucky_ , why does he think that?). “Did you call the cops?”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re gonna believe the hooker over the upstanding fucking citizen.” He trails off, shaking his head and looking away again with his jaw clenched. “Paid me to keep my mouth shut. Covered all my textbooks for the year. Worth it.”

“Bucky…” Steve doesn’t know what to do. He’s always existed in a world where ‘call the cops’ was the answer to this kind of situation, now he feels like the rug has been pulled out from under him. “Did he…?”

“I said it was worth it.” Bucky straightens up and pulls his best smile again, somehow obscene with his purple face and the bead of blood that wells up when the split lip opens again. “What can I do for you tonight, Mr Congressman?”

Steve just watches him for a moment, long enough to see doubt slip into Bucky’s eyes and the smile start to falter, and then kisses him. Just gently, just once. Mindful of the places that might hurt. They haven’t been doing this long, he doesn’t know why he cares, but somehow he really, really does. 

“You have comfortable clothes in your bag?” He pulls back and holds Bucky’s chin in place, nodding at the black sports bag he always brings with him once he’s sure the guy is listening. Bucky nods, confused. “Get changed into them. Wash your face. We’re gonna watch a movie and you’re gonna listen to me bitch about people in high places because, lemme tell you, it’s been a day.”

“You don’t have to-” He has that defiant look on his face again, the refusal to be gentled, soothed, and so Steve tightens his fingers around Bucky’s chin because if that’s what it takes to get the kid to settle, then so be it. 

“It’s for me, not you.” It’s only half a lie. He’ll only feel guilty all week if he fucks the kid when he’s in this state. Bucky seems to understand and when Steve lets him go, he gets to his feet and goes to grab his bag with a pronounced limp. Steve doesn’t want to think about it. 

He doesn’t thank Steve for taking it easy on him, and they never talk about it again, but Bucky softens after that. He lets Steve in a little more, and they start to wander their way towards something that’s distinctly deeper than just hooker and john. 

Maybe it’s a mistake, but cuddled up into Steve’s side that night and feeling safe again in that dim lamplight, Bucky doesn’t care. 


	6. Out Aftermath

_“You can’t impeach him for being a homosexual.”  
_

_“Sexual misconduct!”  
_

_“In a consensual, long-term relationship because it happens to involve two men? That would set such a dangerous precedent, there’s no way-”  
_

_“He lied to the American people!”  
_

_“He never lied! This isn’t a Bill Clinton situation, he never outright commented because he was never asked outright!”_

The TV suddenly mutes, and Steve looks over his shoulder to see Bucky standing behind him with the remote in hand. His boyfriend looks about as wrecked as Steve feels, showered and shaved but with sleepless circles under his eyes and dressed casually because he’s been strictly confined to the White House since the news broke. 

“I told you to stop watching Fox.” Bucky leans over the back of the couch and tilts Steve’s chin up with his free hand, getting a look at him and twitching a tiny smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Steve sighs quietly and can’t relax into the touch, even when Bucky leans down to give him an upside-down peck on the lips. “I know. It’s just… this is my legacy, y’know?”

“Nah, it’s really not.” Bucky comes around the couch and sits down next to Steve, not trying to pull him into his arms yet. This is their private living room, they won’t be disturbed barring another _disaster_ , but he can feel the tension coming off Steve in waves and doesn’t want to push it. “This is your legacy.”

He changes the channel and turns the volume back up, finding the broadcast he’d come in to show Steve in the first place. Downtown Brooklyn, Steve’s home turf and the place that matters to him most even if he’s supposed to be neutral now, is awash with colour and music. Steve sits up straighter and stares at the screen with wide eyes, watching the rainbow flags and people celebrating like he can’t fucking _believe_ what he’s seeing. 

“They’re throwing you a coming out party.” Bucky smiles at the look on Steve’s face, the sheer wonderment. “People all over the country are celebrating one of _us_ getting here, being open about it. You made history. That’s your legacy, babe. Not a bunch of bigots trying to swim against the tide. I’m so fucking proud of you, and so are they.”

It’s a minute before Steve can speak without his voice shaking, but when he finally looks over at Bucky it’s with the first smile he’s worn since the news broke. 

“You wanna go to a party with me?”


	7. Coffee Date

“Well. This ain’t a coffee date.”

Bucky doesn’t sound _pleased_ to see Steve again, and it makes Steve nervous. Yes, he lied and told the kid he’d call and never did for the sake of a clean break. And yes, he did ignore the emails and text messages because he’d thought it was easier not to create false hope. And _yes_ , he did finally accept Bucky’s application to intern for his campaign on the basis of missing both him _and_ his ass. But really, he missed Bucky more than anything else. 

Still, the kid is standing in front of him with short hair and a smart suit, looking fucking _gorgeous_ and distinctly unamused. The same incredulous eyebrow raise Steve remembers from bad jokes between plush hotel sheets. It makes him sweat, now. 

“Uh, not so much.” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, shifting in his desk chair and wishing Bucky had fully closed the door behind him. “Listen, Buck-”

“James. Let’s keep it professional, Mr Congressman. I’m only here because I didn’t have a snowball’s chance getting onto another internship like this and I figured you owed me.” Oh, he’s _cold_ , enough that Steve shivers under the implications. He really hurt Bucky by cutting him out, Jesus.

“I… I see. Uh, I just want to say I’m sorry I-”

“Can I get you something, sir?” Cold as _ice_. Steve feels the blush creep up his neck from the implied chastisement, but Bucky just smiles blandly and doesn’t do a thing to disguise the pain behind his eyes. 

It’s awful, this isn’t what Steve wanted to happen at all. He’d imagined Bucky, the bright young thing, moving on with his life, finding someone who actually deserved him. He never thought he’d broken his heart. 

“No. Thank you, James. That’ll be all.” He moves to stand, to walk over and close the office door so he can speak to Bucky privately, beg forgiveness if he has to. But Bucky’s turned and left before he can move, smart shoes clicking down the hall as he walks away. 

Steve lets his head drop onto his desk with a long, painful groan.

Shit. 


	8. Guilt

“Congressman Reeves is on the phone, sir.” Bucky popping his head around Steve’s office door should be the highlight of his morning, if things had gone according to plan.

As they actually turned out, however, Bucky looking hot and untouchable in his shirt and tie is _extremely_ unfairwhen he doesn’t even want Steve _breathing_ near him. He’s been very clear about it, remaining polite and professional at all times while still managing, somehow, to make Steve feel extremely guilty with his mere presence. And every time he tries to have a conversation Bucky dodges it like he thinks he’s going to be let down all over again. His work is meticulous, measured and almost flawless in its execution, and Steve quickly has him on speech writing for reasons that have nothing to do with spending more time together. 

The proximity doesn’t help. 

There are barbed, snarky comments, and he always makes the coffee wrong on purpose, sure. But it’s not like he says anything specific or even shoots Steve death glares (Natasha takes care of that all on her own), but there’s something bleak about Bucky’s presence, something that says he’s forcing his way through the experience that makes Steve feel like nothing but a son of a bitch. Because he did that, wilfully, to the bubbly kid he remembers leaving for the last time with the promise to call and make a date. 

 _“…the guy never called me again, though.”_ Steve overhears him telling one of the other interns at the water cooler, safely hidden behind a cubicle divider. Bucky never sounds less than cool and collected in front of Steve, it’s awful to hear his voice waver when he thinks he’s out of earshot.  _“I had a really bad year after that. Really broke me, y’know? So stupid, I was totally in love with him. Never fall for someone who’s married to their job, I guess. Bet you learn that quick around here if you ain’t as dumb as me.”_

“Sir?” Bucky frowns slightly, and Steve blinks when he realises he’s left it too long without answering. He actually looks concerned, just a flicker, and Steve doesn’t know whether he hopes it’s for him or the campaign. “The Congressman?”

“I’ll call him back.” Steve shakes his head, because he’s suddenly reached the end of his rope with this. He doesn’t know if Bucky realises how much he’s making Steve suffer by letting him see _him_  in pain, but he’s had enough of it. “Can you come in and close the door, James? I need to speak to you about something.”

“Am I fired, sir?” Bucky comes in and closes the door behind him dutifully, holding himself stiff like he’s bracing. for something. He probably really does think Steve is about to fire him, remembers the guy who broke his heart and figures he’s been too much trouble to keep around when he’s not even getting the Congressman laid. “I’d really appreciate a decent reference for my resume.”

“You’re not fired.” Steve gestures him to sit and Bucky takes the seat opposite the desk awkwardly, perching on the edge like he’s ready to bolt. Steve lets out a short, silent sigh and looks Bucky in the eye, no idea if he’s just going to dodge the conversation again. “Buck, I’m sorry I never called. I was an asshole.”

“I can’t do this.” Bucky is already up, heading back for the door before Steve jumps out of his own chair and grabs his wrist to stop him. “Let me go.”

“Just hear me out. Please.” Steve doesn’t care if he sounds desperate, still hanging on even as Bucky tries to twist his arm away. “I was a jerk, I know that. I was an _idiot_. I thought I was making it easier on you, I thought I was giving you the chance to find someone who could really _be_ with you instead of this-”

“Let go of me, sir. Or I’m gonna start yelling.” Bucky’s voice is shaking, nothing like the careful composure he maintains around Steve. He finally yanks his arm away from Steve’s grip, eyes heavy with sudden tears he refuses to shed. “The Congressman is on line four, when you’re ready.”

“Bucky, please don’t-”

He’s already wrenching the door open and hurrying out of the office, leaving Steve feeling like the world’s biggest asshole in his wake. He needs to find a way to make this right, and soon. Preferably before he loses his damn mind. 


	9. Queen Meets Queen

“Ma’am as in jam, not mahm as in arm. Bow from the head, not from the waist.” Bucky repeats dutifully, for what feels like the thousandth time today. “Don’t curtsy, she won’t think it’s funny.”

“And what do you _not_ talk about?” Natasha holds another shirt up to him, frowning at the colour and handing it back to the tailor’s assistant. He needs blue really, brings out his eyes in photographs. 

“Sex, drugs, rock and roll?” Bucky yelps when she smacks him on the shoulder, which makes the tailor stick a pin into his arm with the movement. “I was kidding!”

“World stage, Barnes. _World_ stage.” She’s starting to think she preferred it when he was nervous as hell about meeting foreign dignitaries in an official capacity. At least she didn’t have to worry about him trying to be _funny_ then. “Don’t talk about politics. You’re not there to talk about politics. You’re there to look pretty and make nice.”

“Little late for a face transplant.” He waggles his eyebrows and she smacks him again, trying to ignore the tailor failing to hide his laugh. 

“I can always arrange a muzzle.”

“Kinky. Steve would like that.” He shoots the tailor a look and a wink that’s not as charming as he thinks it is, in Natasha’s book. “You already signed your NDA, right?” 

“From the top, Barnes.” She’s going to get a ruler to start rapping his knuckles soon if he gets any cockier. Although he’d probably find a way to enjoy that too.

Bucky rolls his eyes but starts his rote again. It’s not every day you meet the Queen, he guesses. 

“Ma’am as in jam, not mahm as in arm…”


	10. Reconciliation

It’s _far_ too late for anyone to still be in the office. Steve himself has been for dinner with a donor (he’s actually friends with the head of Stark Industries so it wasn’t a hardship) and come back to grab some stuff before he heads home. He didn’t expect to see the lights still on at the back of the office. It’s getting on for half past midnight, even Natasha doesn’t work this late. 

“James?” The kid is half-asleep at his desk, jerks his head up when Steve softly calls his name. He blinks for a second, disoriented, before realising he’s still at work and trying to straighten himself up. He runs a hand through his hair and only manages to make himself more dishevelled, turning pink when he realises it’s Steve who woke him. 

It’s fucking _adorable_. Or at least it would be, if he didn’t look exhausted. 

“What’re you still doing here? It’s nearly one.” Steve hovers awkwardly, not daring to get too close in case Bucky runs again. 

“S’the speech for Thursday. Wanda did… _I_ did something to the file.” He corrects himself quickly, and if Steve thought he couldn’t soften further he was wrong. Taking the fall for Wanda is something nobody bothers to do after their first day, except Bucky, apparently. “I got most of it back from memory, I just couldn’t remember the closer.”

“ _Lead us into a brighter future without ignoring the mistakes we made in the past. We are, and will remain, accountable for our actions_.” Steve fills in, watching the relieved slump of Bucky’s shoulders fondly. “I used it for a speech in college, been waiting for a special occasion to bust it out again.”

“Thank god.” He scribbles it down, dropping the pen and then his head on the desk in quick succession. “M’not sure I’m really awake.”

“C’mon.” Steve chances a light pat to his shoulder and Bucky doesn’t pull away. Hostilities seem to have softened lately, just a little, and Steve’s not sure if it’s promising but it’s definitely pleasant. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

The car ride is oddly not tense, quiet against the backdrop of the dark city streets. Bucky is out before they’ve even left the parking lot, curled up slightly with his forehead pressed against the cold passenger window. He lives in a shittier neighbourhood than Steve had thought, and doesn’t immediately wake up when they come to a stop outside his run-down apartment building. He’s been working flat out for the campaign lately, more than he needs to, and for a second Steve just lets him sleep. 

He’s reaching out to shake Bucky’s shoulder and looking at him in the watery streetlight filtering through the windscreen when he realises -

_Oh._

“Hey.” He touches Bucky’s shoulder gently, rousing him with the same sucked-in breath Steve remembers from when he had to leave unexpectedly from that hotel room. From when they’d been _them_ , for that brief moment in time. “We’re here.”

“Oh, shit. Thanks.” Bucky sits up and just looks at him for a long, long moment. Steve wonders if he’s thinking the same things he is. “Steve-”

“I’m sorry.” They speak over each other, but Steve is the one who presses on. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve done so much for this campaign and you’re an amazing person and-”

“ _Steve_.” Bucky looks like he’s going to cut him off again, but Steve doesn’t let him. 

“I have feelings for you.” He’s got no fancy language left, he might be a politician but he’s not going for tricks here. The only thing he has going for him is brutal honesty. “I’m not a good person, and I dunno what I can offer you. But I’d like to take you out for that cup of coffee, try and make amends for being a fucking asshole. Please.”

Bucky looks at him for another long moment in the silence, eyes flicking all over Steve’s face, before he leans up and kisses Steve on the cheek. It’s quick, light, but it’s _there_. It feels like benediction, maybe the start of forgiveness. 

“After work tomorrow?” He sounds unsure, like Steve’s going to snatch it away again. Steve thinks it’s funny that Bucky doesn’t seem to get that _he’s_ the one holding all the power here. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.” Steve beams, unable to keep the smile off his face. He’s pretty sure Bucky returns the smile before he gets out of the car, but it’s dark enough that he wouldn’t put money on it. 

It’s a start. That’s all he’s asking for. 


	11. Busy and Important

“What part of silver and blue is so hard to handle?”

“It’s just not very tra-”

“If the next word out of your mouth is traditional, I swear you’re gonna walk around for the whole of December in antlers and elf shoes.” Bucky is lethal with a clipboard, but apparently everyone who’d known him on the campaign trail forgot that once he was confirmed as First Gentleman. “I’ll allow purple accents. But if I see one red bow or gold ornament I swear...”

He ticks something off his list and sends the staffer scuttling back to the decorating team with this tail between his legs. Steve sidles up from where he’s just got out of meetings and been observing proceedings, slips his arms around Bucky’s waist and presses a photo-appropriate kiss behind his ear. Just in case. 

“I’m very busy and important.” Bucky tries to sound snippy, but he’s too happy to see Steve to pretend very well. He’s growing his hair out again and it tickles Steve’s nose when he snuffles a laugh into his neck. “Can I help you, lowly politician?”

“I’d like to have dinner with you, Mr Barnes. If you’re not _too_ busy and important.” Steve does his best to sound contrite but utterly fails. Bucky finds him charming, at least. “Think you can trust these guys to run things on their own for a couple hours?”

“Probably. As long as they stick to the _colour scheme_.” He might raise his voice at the end, just a little bit. Just enough to make his point. He caps his pen and turns around in Steve’s arms, pecking a quick kiss to his lips because it’s important to be _appropriate_ in public, much as he hates it. “Better make it quick, I’m on the clock.”

“It’s November.” Steve rolls his eyes and grabs Bucky’s hand, dragging him out of the hall before he can start worrying about the new delivery of spun-glass ornaments. “I ordered mac and cheese.”

“My hero.” Bucky snorts and lets Steve lead him away from the chaos, slipping his arm around his boyfriend’s waist in the privacy of the mostly-empty corridors. “What d’you want for Christmas?”

“A week off with your ass.”

“Mr _President_!”


	12. Cause

“It’s not _appropriate_.”

“D’you understand what a massive problem sex ed is in this country?” Natasha had expected the suggestion to be a joke, when she brought up which cause Bucky should dedicate his energies and influence to as First Gentleman, but Bucky’s actually fighting his corner on this. “Abstinence-only state mandates? Fucking criminal lack of access to abortion services?”

“You can’t show up at schools and give kids condoms!” Nat puts her pen down pointedly, which is equivalent to slamming something on the table for anyone else. “It’s not voter-friendly. It’s not media-friendly. It’s not. Appropriate.”

“How is it any _less_ appropriate than healthy eating?” She forgot just how stubborn Bucky can be when he’s not terrified of putting a foot wrong, and it’s great to see again even if it’s going to cause her some truly huge headaches. “Obesity is a huge problem, lack of sex ed is just as bad. We’re the most developed country in the world and people are still contracting HIV because they don’t understand condoms.”

He’s done his homework on this. He has _spreadsheets_. Nat is starting to think she’s not going to win, here.

“The media will spin it like-”

“Anything they’re gonna say, they’re already saying!” Bucky cuts her off, strident and sure of himself in a way Natasha hasn’t seen him since Steve came out. “You think I don’t know there are memes about the President having AIDS? You think I don’t know what the right wing says about me? This is an opportunity to do something with that bullshit and make it useful.”

They stare each other down for a moment, at impasse. Kenny the coffee boy (who just wanted to deliver his lattes before the meeting started, how did he get into this mess) takes the opportunity to back out of the room and away from the situation. These two are definitely scarier than he’d anticipated.

“You’re not going to back down on this, are you?” Natasha sighs, finally, and Bucky grins. 

“Not even a little bit.”

Bucky’s first PSA is a video of him putting a condom on a banana. 

Steve stands behind the camera with his head in his hands the entire time, making no attempt to talk his partner out of it because experience has taught him that’s pointless. It breaks the record for the fastest video to get a million hits on YouTube, and the conservatives have a fucking _field day_ , but it starts a conversation about sex ed and the number of people accessing free condom services jumps overnight.

Bucky’s very proud of himself. Steve is too. 


	13. Mr President

**1**

“ _Yes_ , Mr President. _Of course_ , Mr President.” Bucky scrapes a bow with his most mocking tone and Steve flushes red to the roots of his hair. Sometimes he forgets he can’t boss everyone around like a staffer, casually barks orders like he owns the place.

Bucky doesn’t get offended, of course. Not when it gives him the opportunity to make fun of Steve.

“Can I get you anything _else_ , Mr President? Can I rub your _feet_ , Mr President?” He’s having way too much fun with this, smirking as he dodges the pillow Steve throws at him. 

“Leave me alone!”

“Can I suck your _cock_ , Mr President?!”

The next pillow hits him in the face, and Bucky goes down laughing.

 

**2**

“I can’t do this.”

Steve’s hands are shaking so hard he fumbles his papers and drops the speech, hastily put together after another mass shooting incident. Sam and his husband were at the game, nobody’s heard from them, and Steve doesn’t know how to be presidential when he’s _scared_.

“You can.” Bucky picks up the papers and shuffles them back into order, pressing them into Steve’s hands before he cups his boyfriend’s face and makes him look him in the eye. “Put Steve away for the next thirty minutes, okay? You’ve gotta be Mr President right now, they’re counting on you to calm things down. I’ll keep calling around about Sam, you do your job.”

Bucky kisses him firmly, like a promise, and Steve breathes out long and low before he pulls himself together. He can do this, he has to. 

 

**3**

“We’ll talk about it later, _Mr President_.” 

Bucky fixes Steve with a stone-cold-capital-L Look before he turns on his heel and stalks off down the corridor. Steve catches the Secretary and Undersecretary of Defence making _yikes_ faces at each other and silently agrees, swallowing hard.

When Bucky pulls out the title during an argument, it means he’s definitely screwed. Even Presidents sometimes end up sleeping on the couch.

 

**4**

“So if you’re Mr President… does that make me Mr President too?” 

Bucky really needs to stop talking at 3am. He gets weird ideas. 

“Makes you Madam President.” Steve grumbles, sticking his cold toes on Bucky’s shin and burrowing further into the blankets. “Go to sleep.”

“This is serious business, dipshit.” Bucky grabs his phone off the nightstand and oh, so much light from the screen. So bright. Steve needs to be asleep. “I’ll ask Nat.”

“Your funeral.” He’s _not_ dealing with the consequences of waking Natasha up with dumb questions. Steve rolls over and sticks his head under the pillow, opting out of this nonsense for a few hours.

“Wait, do we need to be married before I get a title?”

Steve burrows away further. He’s officially not dealing with that tonight either.

 

**5**

Bucky’s boyfriend is a fucking nerd. 

He knows _exactly_  what Steve wants him to say when he’s pounding Bucky’s ass into next week. Hell, he used to lose it when Bucky whispered filthy things ending with _Mr Congressman_  in his ear, back in the day. But Steve won’t ask for what he wants, because he’s a fucking doofus and he’s never shaken that lingering Catholic embarrassment about actually enjoying things. Let alone sex. 

So Bucky goes ahead and springs it on him, of course, because he’s great like that. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He twists his fingers in the sheets and tries unsuccessfully to get Steve to speed up from the slow, torturous pace he’s been fucking Bucky at for what feels like forever. “C’mon, please. Come in me, fill me up. _Please_ , Mr President.”

And Steve is _gone_. Bucky just hangs on for the ride as he gets the most thorough dicking ever, probably, and Steve comes so hard he almost passes out. He’s officially  _great_. 

“Fucking nerd.” Bucky mumbles into his chest later, when they’re snuggled up in the afterglow. Steve flicks his ear and rolls on top of him, ignoring all protests because he’s in charge around here. Even got the title to prove it. 


	14. Blue and Silver

“Like on my Dad’s side. Two generations back? One? Something like that.” Bucky explains to Steve when the press starts asking questions about the White House colour scheme that Christmas, just in case he’s asked. Just in case someone tries to prove him wrong by digging up something about Bucky’s family history that even he doesn’t know. “I dunno. It’s not like we ever talked about it. I never went to a synagogue or anything, pretty sure he didn’t either.”

“You never knew your grandparents?”

“I met a grandma one time.” It’s calm in the low light of the fire, warm and comfortable as Bucky snuggles into Steve’s side and lets his mouth run freely. “She had a tracheotomy. Smoking. Didn’t speak. She was happy to see me, though. Wore a star of David, that’s about all the evidence I’ve got.”

“So how come the colours?” Steve presses a lazy kiss to his hair and Bucky rubs his face into his shirt a little, affectionate like a cat. “Family nod?”

“Nah. I just hate red and gold.” Bucky admits, tugging the fleecy blanket further up his shoulders with a contented sigh. He hates being cold, and the White House is the first time he’s had all the heat he wants all winter. 

“You could find out about them.” His boyfriend doesn’t like to talk about his family, Steve knows that, but he has to bring it up anyway. “If you wanted to. You’ve got the resources now.”

“Don’t need to.” Bucky watches the fire and runs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles where they’re holding hands. He’s content and it’s nice, peaceful. “I got my own family now.”


	15. Yes, Your Majesty

“...I wouldn’t say purple’s her colour.”

“I didn’t even notice the purple, I’m afraid I was quite blinded by the ring. Terribly gauche.”

“At least she’s getting something out of the deal. Her husband’s so boring I nearly cried last time I had to sit next to him.”

“Dear boy, just feel relieved that Mr Bush was before your time. The most terminally dull man I have ever had the dubious pleasure of meeting. And he was as thick as two short planks.”

Steve is trying to concentrate on his pleasant chit-chat with the British ambassador, but it’s a struggle when he can hear Bucky and Her Majesty The Queen having a _wonderful_ time to his left. They’ve been _roasting_ everyone at the State dinner since they sat down, stilted comments about the _lovely evening_ quickly devolving into the shadiest rundown of flaws he’s ever heard. And that’s _before_ they started gossiping. 

He should have known. 

“You must visit Balmoral. I take it you like dogs?”

“Ma’am, I’ve never met a puppy I didn’t love.”

Steve resists the urge to put his head in his hands when Bucky catches his eye across the table and grins. It looks like this is shaping up to be a _very_ special relationship. 


	16. Leak

“If this breaks, you’re going to have to split up immediately.”

“I don’t fucking think so.” Steve slams the Starkpad down on the desk, hard enough that the rest of the room are surprised the screen doesn’t crack. With the image it displays, they’re surprised Steve didn’t break it on purpose. 

A former client of Bucky’s has approached the tabloids with lurid information and even worse pictures of the First Gentleman sucking a cock and getting his ass paddled raw. Bucky is young in the pictures, angular and hungry-looking the way Steve remembers him from when they met. This must have been from before their arrangement started, when Bucky was still a freshman and didn’t know how he’d pay his rent from one month to the next. 

“This whole situation is already pushing it, sir. You can’t be shacking up with a hooker in the White House!” Ross has been a pain in Steve’s ass from the word go, but this is taking the cake. He’s trying to get this leak handled before Bucky becomes aware of it, and all Ross has done is slow them down. “The _only_ way for you to come out of this unscathed is to make it clear that he lied to you, drag him through the mud so you come out clean.”

“It’s not going to leak.” Steve calms himself down, aware of Natasha and Barton at each elbow and letting their support wrap around him like armour. “And if it does, then these photos are from a domestic situation. Jilted ex-boyfriend looking for a buck.”

“How can you possibly think-”

“There’s a domestic violence charge filed in 2015. It’ll match up if you make it.” Steve cuts Ross off and ignores him completely, turning to the people he knows will get shit done. He’s not going to let Bucky’s past hurt him, or them, ever again. “Get Stark on the phone, I need him to corrupt some files. And get Hill down here, we need to talk security.” 

“And Mr Barnes…” Clint waits for instructions, always. Steve shakes his head and sets his jaw, ready to handle this alone. 

“He never finds out.” He makes it clear, unhesitating. “This isn’t his fault and he doesn’t need to know. Are we clear?”

Most of the staff around the table nod. They know when Steve isn’t to be questioned, especially when Bucky’s in the line of fire.


	17. Aftermath

Steve and Sam don’t let go of each other for a full five minutes in the hospital corridor. The Secret Service are keeping everyone else out of the private wing, and Bucky is polite enough to linger in the background and not get in their way. Sam buries his face in Steve’s shoulder and Steve squeezes him tight enough to pop a lung, because he thought Sam was fucking _dead_. 

“Caught him in the arm. Gotta have surgery to get it set right. Nothing like we had in Af...” Sam sobs into Steve’s shirt and Steve just holds him together as tight as he can. “We would’ve been okay. We knew what it was, the shots. People thought it was firecrackers. But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t-”

“It’s not your fault.” Steve strokes his hand gently over the nape of Sam’s neck and just holds him, knows how terrified he’d be if it was Bucky in surgery and tries to a grounding force. “Sam, it’s not your fault.”

“I couldn’t _move_. I couldn’t... He should’ve run. He could’ve gone for cover. But I couldn’t move and he wouldn’t leave me and then he...”

“It’s not your fault.” Steve repeats, steady and sure. He remembers Sam’s panic attacks, still knows how he would have frozen up at the sound of shots, still remembers the fourth of July and his boyfriend freaking out over fireworks. He knows, he still knows. “He’s gonna be okay. He’s fine. You’re both fine.”

“I dunno how we’re gonna afford-”

“You’re not gonna get a single bill. You and Rhodey already did enough.” Steve promises, breathing Sam in and squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he could make this _better_. He doesn’t want to be with his ex anymore, not romantically, but he’s his best fucking friend and there’s no way he’s not going to make this horrible shit as easy as possible. “Just worry about getting him better. The both of you better. Please?”

“He’s out of surgery.” Bucky breaks into their murmured conversation quietly, tactfully, glancing at Steve to make sure he’s holding up before twitching a tiny smile a Sam. “This lady can take you to see him, Sam.”

Sam squeezes Steve once more and then goes, desperate to see his husband as fast as he can. Steve watches him go and stays steady when Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, checking in to make sure he’s okay. He’ll collapse later, he knows, but right now he’s got to stay on his feet and handle the fallout of this tragedy like a President should. 

Steve stands straight and strong and doesn’t collapse. Not yet. He watches Sam hold himself together and thinks _keep going. Not yet._


	18. Old Lady Drag

“…Who are you supposed to be?”

“Uh, Eleanor Roosevelt.” Bucky adjusts his hat pin and quirks an eyebrow like he’s stating the obvious. “Duh.”

“Why?!” Steve hadn’t expected Bucky to drag up in front of the nation. Not until his second term, at least. Not that he looks _bad_. Just. Old lady drag. 

“Mainly because she was a badass First Lady, just like me.” He grins and Steve finds the whole lipstick thing kind of confusing but also doesn’t totally mind? He’s been working too hard, his dick is confused. “Also Nat spent like two weeks trying to talk me out of it, so I had to.”

“I thought you were the one getting all pissed about the media acting like you’re the woman in this relationship?”

“Gotta give the people what they want.” He shrugs, like this is the logical conclusion of that statement. Sure. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Steve keeps his _uh oh_  expression to himself, pressing his lips together as he finishes drawing cat whiskers on his face. The team had vetoed pretty much every costume he’d suggested, and at this point it’s just passive-aggressive to go with the shittiest one possible. “Try not to cuss in front of the kids.”

“Mr President, how dare you. I’m the pinnacle of polite society.” Bucky puts his hands on his hips sternly, and Steve gets the feeling he’ll be spending most of this evening just trying to keep a straight face for the cameras. 

Which lasts just fine, until Bucky loudly tells a little boy in a Queen Elsa dress that he looks _fucking sweet dude, you’re so pretty!_ and Steve loses it. The photo of Bucky in old lady drag fistbumping a sparkly four year old while Steve ugly laughs next to him is the one that makes the papers. Of course. 


	19. Breaking In

Steve’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be able to believe what he’s seeing, but he’s way too used to his boyfriend at this point. Only Bucky could ‘break the bedroom in’ like this.

“This is amazing!” Bucky has to keep one arm raising to stop his head hitting the ceiling, bouncing on the huge, plush mattress with the breathless laugh of a carefree kid. “It’s like a trampoline, get up here!”

“Don’t break it.” Steve can’t stop grinning, watching Bucky lose himself in the sheer joy of _making it_ , of _being here_. It’s easy to forget that they have at least a ten year age gap, but sometimes when Bucky’s so able to cut loose Steve remembers with a jolt. He’s been through a lot, but he’s still so young in some ways. 

“C’mon, Steve!” Bucky stops bouncing long enough to grab his hand and pull him up onto the bed, sparing no thought for Steve’s pressed suit. He takes both of Steve’s hands in his and bounces up and down until Steve just goes with it. “How many Presidents you think boned in this bed?”

“None, hopefully.” Steve slips his arm quickly around Bucky’s waist and pulls him in close, both of them laughing like dorks when they overbalance and end up collapsed on the mattress, tangled together. “Well. One. Hopefully.”

Bucky laughs, loud and shameless, and lets Steve roll him onto his back to kiss him. Maybe they can break the bed in two ways today. 


	20. Coded

“’ _The so-called First Gentleman failed to stun in an unadventurous black suit…_ ’” Bucky scoffs emphatically, and Steve’s pretty sure if he rolls his eyes any harder they’re going to get stuck like that. He rolls over to glare up at Steve, head pillowed in his lap where they’ve both been reading in bed during a rare calm evening. “They gonna pull this shit every time?”

“What shit, babe?” Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s hair soothingly, encouraging him to rant it out. He pretty much understands what’s pissing Bucky off so much, but it’s rare that he gets to be supportive instead of things working the other way around. 

“All this.” Bucky gestures with his tablet, narrowly avoiding whacking Steve in the chin. “They write about me like I’m your wife. Like I know they ain’t got shit to compare us to, like precedent, but it’s fucking ridiculous.”

Steve can tell there’s more coming, so he just makes a noise of agreement and brushes the hair off Bucky’s forehead, waiting. 

“I know my job is to stand there and not be controversial, I know that. But I’m fucking gay, not a woman. Isn’t that why everyone got their panties in a bunch in the first place? Do I gotta get my dick out before they stop writing about me being _slight_ and _fine featured_  and shit? it’s all just ‘cause they can’t call me ‘the girl in the relationship’. Don’t get me started about my fucking hair. I’m shaving my head, I swear to god.”

“This really bothers you, huh?” Steve’s mouth quirks up in the barest hint of a sad smile, because he hates to see his normally laid-back boyfriend uncomfortable like this. It’s not like there’s anything he can do about it, either. 

“I dunno how women do it. I’ve been in the spotlight for like a year and I’m already about to punch someone out if I get one more coded question about who tops.” He grumbles, tossing his tablet off he side of the bed and onto the cushion Steve always puts there for exactly this reason. 

He finds it frustrating that the media at large doesn’t seem to be able to comprehend two guys being in a relationship and neither of them assuming the ‘feminine role’, but since he’s the big, hypermasculine one with the powerful position, it doesn’t affect the way they portray him the same as Bucky. He lets his boyfriend shuffle around a little, like he’s fidgeting out his frustration, doesn’t try and give him platitudes because they’re not going to help anything. 

He has to ask, though. 

“You’re not really shaving your head, right?”

“Nah, sugar. I like the way you pull my hair too much.” Bucky nuzzles into Steve’s stomach, clearly giving up on reading in favour of drifting off. “Might cut it, though.”

He gets a short back and sides a few days later, and the most common comment in the gossip columns is _we wonder if his partner approves!_.  

Typical. 


	21. Eggs

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Steve crouches down next to the little girl in her Sunday best, hiccuping out big, fat tears while clutching her Easter basket for dear life. The pre-approved press are busy getting wide shots of the Easter egg hunt, so the only person listening in on the conversation is Bucky, hanging back while Steve talks to the kid.

“I-I got no eggs.” She can’t be more than three, and she wipes her nose on the back of her hand with a huge sniffle. “My brother took m-mine. He stoled them!”

“That’s not nice.” Steve frowns, kneeling down (which he’s been explicitly told not to do five times, his knees are already grass-stained) and grabbing the eggs from his own little basket. “Here, you want these ones? They’re just the same.”

“No!” She shakes her head (and her whole body) when he offers her a couple of yellow foil-wrapped eggs. “I want the pink ones.”

“Awesome, I got lots of pink ones.” Steve grins at her big smile, transferring all his pink eggs into her basket while she wipes her nose again with another almighty sniff. “You go find some more, okay?”

“’Kay!” She runs off over the lawn towards her family, braids streaming behind her. Bucky watches her go with a smile he just can’t keep off his face, and Steve walks back to join him with damp grass clinging to his suit pants.

“Don’t laugh.” He bumps Bucky lightly with his shoulder, interpreting his expression slightly left of where it really is. Bucky glances at him sideways and bumps him back, leaving their shoulders pressed together for a moment before they rejoin the group. 

“You wanna have one of those one day?”

Steve chokes on his spit. _Then_ Bucky really does laugh. 


	22. Cold Call

“Hello?”

Bucky sounds tired when he picks up, but he clearly hasn’t been asleep. That’s good, Steve tells himself as he lets out a slightly nervous breath, because the only thing that could probably _increase_ how tense he feels about this conversation is having woken Bucky up in the middle of the night. 

“Buck, hi.” He can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips when he hears Bucky’s voice again, it’s been so long. “It’s Steve.”

“Steve?” Something falls over in the background and Bucky shushes someone with the phone held away from his face. It sounds like he’s been staying up to watch the speeches with friends (maybe a boyfriend? Steve doesn’t want to think about it), but the tiredness quickly shakes from his voice when he realises who’s calling him. “Hey! Hi. What, uh. You were supposed to call me.”

“I just wanted to let you know your application to intern on the campaign has been accepted. You’ve got a great resume.” Steve can’t keep the humour out of his tone, waits for Bucky to laugh before he tones it down and actually makes the sincere apology about not being in contact that he’s been meaning to. 

“Oh.” Bucky sounds hollow, suddenly. Crestfallen. “Oh, right. Okay.”

Wait. That’s not what Steve intended. 

“Listen, I’m-”

“I gotta go, Steve. It’s late.” Bucky is _definitely_ giving him the cold shoulder now. What the hell? What did he do? “See you at work.”

“Buck, wait-”

He hangs up. Steve pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at it because he’s not sure what the hell is going on.

“Everything alright, boss?” Nat asks, on her way past with a bunch of flyers in her arms, and Steve shakes his head slightly. 

“I honestly have no idea.”


	23. Cannoli

Bucky Barnes is a fucking menace. 

Not only was it his idea to set up the office snack rota, but he was the one who started the whole thing off by baking some ridiculously good cupcakes (their glittery frosting and unnecessarily fancy presentation made it to the campaign Instagram, which Steve blames Clint for) and setting off the other interns’ competitive sides. Especially after Steve tried to get back into Bucky’s good books by complimenting his baking (it didn’t work) and everyone wants to impress him.

Since then it’s been a goddamn arms race of baked goods. Everything from cookies to muffins to mini pies, and last week Wanda’s baklava made up for every admin error she’s ever made in one honey-sweet swoop. Now the rota has finally swung back to Bucky again, and Steve is _determined_ to find a way to get him into conversation without Bucky running off, even if it is only about cupcakes. 

Except his plan is thwarted when he gets a look at the break table. Because Bucky Barnes is a fucking _menace_. 

“Cannoli?” He glances across at Bucky with mild surprise, glad of the starting point for an actual conversation. “Didn’t know you cooked Italian.”

“There’s a lotta things you don’t know about me, sir.” Bucky plucks one of the pastries from the box, regarding it thoughtfully before flicking his eyes up to Steve and giving the cream filling at an end one _totally_ unnecessary kitten lick. 

Steve remembers what that feels like on the head of his dick. Oh Jesus. 

“So. Uh.” Steve swallows hard, skin suddenly hot and very aware that they’re in the main office in full view of everyone. “Why cannoli?”

“I like to suck the cream out.” Bucky shrugs, nonchalantly sealing his lips around the pastry before turning away from Steve and sauntering back to his desk in a way that says he definitely knows his ass is being thoroughly checked out. 

Steve watches him go before leaning against the snack table and dropping his head into his hands with a groan. Nat pats him on the back on her way past, but it doesn’t exactly feel sympathetic. 

Bucky Barnes is a menace, and Steve is a broken man.


	24. Sweet and Sour

“He voted for the other guy.” Steve shrugs, forcibly casual as Bucky gapes at him with sauce dripping off his chopsticks. “Pass me your sweet and sour.”

“Don’t eat all the chicken again.” Bucky grumbles habitually, handing over he foil container and licking stickiness off his fingers. “You never told me your Dad was such a...”

“Bigot? Yeah. He’s about to become _real_ popular with the right wing press once his tell-all comes out.” He steals most of the chicken from Bucky’s dish, but his boyfriend can’t find it in himself to be too mad. “Ma even tried to prove to him he was being a shitty Catholic, love the sinner but hate the sin, all that shit. Pretty big reason they’re getting divorced, the whole rampant homophobia bullshit.”

“Babe.” Bucky’s forehead crinkles up sadly and he kicks his feet out to tangle with Steve’s under the table. “That... fucking _sucks_.”

“Pretty much.” Steve reaches his fork out to try and steal noodles from Bucky’s plate, but gets a chopstick to the wrist for his trouble. “We’ve got about one good parent between us, huh?”

“Sarah’s pretty great. I can live with it.” Bucky blocks another fork attack with extreme prejudice. “Listen asshole, you’re not getting my goddamn noodles without trading. Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

He’s good enough to not do his shitty Hannibal Lecter impression along with the quote. Steve loves him a bit. 

“Egg roll?” He makes sad puppy noises when Bucky shakes his head solemnly. “I’ll give you a free assassination, the Secret Service owe me.”

“I’ll think about it. Your Dad’s got it coming.” Bucky mutters, pinching over the _tiniest_ amount of noodles onto Steve’s plate because he’s just fucking _great_ like that. “Gimmie the prawn crackers, then.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve would snap off a salute if he didn’t have his hands full, and Bucky kicks his ankle for the principle alone. Dork.


	25. Bang Bang

“You've got to stop worrying like this.” Steve has been gentle about it so far, but things are starting to get ridiculous. Bucky curls up further into his armchair and avoids his boyfriend’s eyes. “I’m _fine_.”

“You got _shot_.” Bucky snaps, sounding almost as terrified as he had when he was seeing the love of his life lying in a hospital bed while he was supposed to be getting sworn in for his second term. They were supposed to be celebrating, four more years of...

Bucky _knew_ people were bigoted, knew some took huge exception to the re-election of a queer President, but that was all academic. He never believed, in his gut, that anyone would try and _kill_ Steve. Not until he was watching him crumple onto that stage like he was-

“The vest caught it, I had bruising and broken ribs.” He doesn’t mention the organ bruising, because that’s not going to help anything right now. “Bucky, I’m okay. I’m alive, I’m safe. You’re running yourself into the ground worrying about-”

“About someone trying to kill you? Like that’s ridiculous, right? Nobody already did that or anything.” Bucky still doesn’t meet his eyes, looking stoically at the TV where Fox is _still_ chewing over the profile of the would-be assassin as if he’s any more interesting than the simple bigoted asshole he is. 

“Sweetheart.” Steve sighs quietly and crouches down in front of Bucky, blocking the view of the TV and forcing him to look at him. He’d been extensively briefed about the possibility of an assassination attempt, trained on how to react and what such an attempt might make him feel in the aftermath, so oddly he’s had an easier time accepting what happened than Bucky. His boyfriend got shocked into it, cold, and he’s been frozen ever since. “You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. You haven’t even left the house since it happened, and when I’m gone you sleep in Natasha’s room. You can’t carry on like this, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“If I lost you...” Bucky’s face folds as he tries to get a hold of himself before he collapses, finally, and a strangled sob forces its way out. Steve squeezes his arms, relieved he’s finally letting something out when it’s all been bottled up inside since he got home from the hospital. “I thought you were dead, Steve. I saw you fall and I thought you were gone forever and I’d never get to...”

“I know, baby. I know. When it happened... I didn’t even think about dying, I thought about not seeing you again.” Steve eases Bucky into his arms, holding him against his chest as his breathing stutters erratically and it sounds like he’s caught between panic and sorrow. “The way you’re going, Buck, I’m worried I’m gonna lose _you_ because you’re not taking care of yourself. Let me organise someone for you to talk to, please? I need you to move past this. I _need_ you.”

“I need you too.” Bucky sniffles, nodding reluctantly and rumpling up his hair as he smushes his face into Steve’s shirt. They’re not going to get past this quickly, and it’s not going to be easy, but at least this is a start. 


	26. Resignation

“You’re ruining his chance.” Ross hisses, voice lowered where he’s ducked down close to Bucky’s ear. Bucky’s knuckles go white around the edge of his desk, but he doesn’t move. “He’s never going to make it while half the country thinks he’s a faggot. If it wasn’t for _you_  he’d be married to a woman and on his way to the White House right now. When he loses, it’ll be your fault. I hope you’re  _proud_ of yourself.”

He straightens up and walks away like nothing happened, leaving Bucky frozen in his seat until Wanda asks him if he’s okay a few minutes later. He shakes his head and - calmly - gets up, collects his stuff, and leaves the office. Ross watches him go with a grimly satisfied look on his face, because getting the kid out of the picture makes all their jobs easier. Maybe Rogers will agree to an image marriage now. 

Bucky emails his resignation on the subway platform, fingers shaking so hard he’s pretty sure he ends up with typos even after spellcheck. He gets on the relatively empty train (because it’s the middle of the _day_ and he just walked out of his job _Jesus_ ) and slumps into a seat, head in his hands. He doesn’t know whether he’s going to throw up or laugh hysterically and _oh god_ his face is getting hot and he’s going to _cry_ on the fucking subway because public humiliation is the only thing that could possibly make this worse. 

He just walked away from the love of his life, _because_ he’s the love of his life. Because he wants Steve to succeed more than he wants to be happy himself. 

Crying on the subway doesn’t seem like it makes anything worse, not when he thinks about it like that. Bucky’s sure nothing on Earth could feel worse than breaking his own heart. 

He just hopes Steve wins without him, that’s what matters. 


	27. You And Me, Kid

Steve shows up at Bucky’s apartment that evening after he reads the email, but the place is empty and he’s not getting any answer on the phone. So he heads over to the one friend of Bucky’s he’s met, reading all the truths he needs into T’Challa’s expression as soon as he opens the door. 

He doesn’t exactly push past the dude, but T’Challa clearly realises Steve is walking in with or without his say-so and steps aside. Bucky is curled up on the couch next to a slew of empty beer bottles, wrapped in Steve’s Yale Debate Team sweater and suspiciously puffy-eyed when he looks up at Steve in shock at his sudden entrance. 

“I don’t accept your resignation.” Steve blurts out, before Bucky can open his mouth. He can’t describe the way he felt when Natasha closed his office door and informed him that Bucky quit, the cold drop of denial that he just couldn’t compute. If he’d had any doubts about their relationship, they’d been cleared up right when he realised that he didn’t know how he’d get up in the morning without Bucky by his side. Right when Bucky was already gone.

“It’s better this way.” Bucky sounds broken, cracked and hoarse like he can’t pull himself together and has stopped trying. Steve can feel T’Challa glaring at him from the hallway and does his best to ignore it because he’s pretty sure the guy could do him some serious damage if he thought he’d hurt Bucky on purpose. “I’m ruining your chance, you’ve gotta-”

“You’re not ruining anything, I swear to Christ.” Steve knows all about the office chatter, but he hadn’t thought it would get to Bucky like this. Wanda had said something vague when he asked her, so he thinks he’s starting to put the pieces together as he crouches down to get on Bucky’s eye level. "We gotta get this clear before things get crazier, okay? I love you."

"You…" Bucky swallows hard and isn't even aware enough to be embarrassed when his voice cracks. He clearly can’t believe he’s loved. Steve wants to kill something. "Steve…"

"I _love you_ , Buck. Before I knew you, all I was doing was going through the motions, trying to be something because I didn't want to be me. But since you… I can't do this without you." He stops himself, shakes his head and ploughs on properly. "No, I _can_ do it, but that’s not the point, I just don't want to. I don't want to do this without you, Bucky. Please don't walk away from us."

"He said you were gonna lose 'cause of me." It sounds like he’s trying to be firm, but he’s either too upset or too many beers in to hide how he really feels. Steve is grateful he’s got a friend who’s kept him safe when he’s in this state, because if something happened to Bucky he couldn’t deal. “You can’t lose.”

"Who?" That's the moment when Bucky realises that Steve can actually win this race. Because shit, he's scary when he gets deadly serious like that. "Who said that to you?"

"Some guy in the office. It's not like a bunch of 'em aren't saying it behind my back." Bucky scrubs the sleeve of Steve’s sweater over his eyes, and Steve has to hold himself back from stopping the movement because his skin already looks raw. “I applied for the campaign because I believe in you. I can’t let you fail because I’m too fucking selfish to let you go.”

“Baby.” Steve goes down on his knees, crowds into Bucky’s space and takes his face in his hands, cradles it like the precious thing it is. Bucky tries not to meet his eyes, but he’s tired and hurt and Steve’s not giving up on them, he’s not letting him walk away. “If it was a choice between the campaign and you...”

“Don’t say it.” Bucky sniffles and shakes his head, not feeling any goddamn better but soothed by Steve’s presence, his touch. He’d tried to resign himself to never having either again and failed miserably. 

“I love you.” Steve strokes his thumb over Bucky’s cheek, rewarded with bloodshot grey eyes flicked up at him warily as he speaks softly. “You aren’t damaging anything, you aren’t making anything harder. You’re definitely not ruining my chances. Please don’t let someone break us, Buck. I need you.”

“I love you too.” Bucky finally relents, just a fraction, and lets Steve feel the relaxation in his posture. They haven’t said _I love you_ s before, it’s a hell of an occasion. “I didn’t mean to... I don’t want to... I can’t...”

“It’s okay. It’s all okay.” That seems to be the straw that breaks him, because Bucky lets himself fold into Steve’s embrace like a cheap deck of cards. Over his shoulder Steve sees T’Challa, still watching and still angry with the man causing his friend this much pain. Steve runs his hand over Bucky’s hair and closes his eyes, revelling in relief. “Lemme take you home, we’ll figure out what to do next after you get some sleep.”

“You’ve got a meeting at nine. Congressman Reeves.” Bucky doesn’t move from his position nuzzled into Steve’s pulse, and even though nothing is even remotely fixed Steve manages to crack a smile. 

“See? Wouldn’t do it without you.” He slides his arm around Bucky and his boyfriend lets out a sigh of something like relief. “You and me kid, we’re gonna do this.”

“You and me.” Bucky echoes, not entirely convinced but getting there. Maybe.


	28. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got rid of the last chapter simply because a) it didn't add anything to the narrative and b) I don't like how I wrote it. In case you were wondering why it disappeared.

“What d’you wanna do after this?” 

Bucky has his cheek smushed into Steve’s shoulder, sweaty skin clinging together as they lie tangled up in the afterglow. It’s too late for them to be up and still functioning without huge amounts of caffeine the following day, but neither of them are particularly inclined to be responsible and call it a night.  

“Uh, sleep?” Steve suggests, deliberately obtuse, and snorts a soft laugh when Bucky pinches him over the ribs. “After what?”

“After _this_.” Bucky raises his head slightly to incline it at the rest of the room, and Steve cottons on. It’s the final year of his second term, in a few months he won’t be President anymore. In a few months they’ll be just Bucky and Steve for the first time ever, and the prospect looms ahead like a cloud that could have a silver or black lining. 

“Take some time off, I guess.” He has thought about it, in a nebulous way or whenever things have been particularly stressful, but nothing concrete. “Do all the things we’ve been putting off. Enjoy having some fucking privacy for a change. Finally get married.”

“You haven’t asked me to marry you.” Bucky points out, but Steve can feel the curve of his smile against his collarbone.

“Well, you wanna?” He shuffles around so they’re lying face to face, sharing a pillow. There are more lines around Steve’s eyes than there used to be, and Bucky’s dark hair is starting to shoot through silver at his temples, and none of it has made them less crazy about each other. “The last eight years have all been about what I want, Buck. Whatever happens next should be for you, what you want.”

“Whatever happens next is gonna be for _us_. That’s what I want.” Bucky slings his leg over Steve’s hips and tugs him in closer until they’re sharing air, a world of two. “And sure, I’ll marry you. Great proposal, by the way. Classy.”

“I had plans, y’know.” Steve rolls his eyes and burrows under the sheets, shoving his cold nose into Bucky’s neck the way his boyfriend pretends to hate. “It was gonna be a real flashy affair.”

“One knee and everything? I’m flattered.” Bucky tugs the covers up to Steve’s shoulders and kisses his hair, tucks him in under his chin and closes his eyes because _after_ can wait for a few hours. “Get some sleep, Mr President.”

“Ten-four, Madam President.” He gets a pinch to the ear and a sleepy laugh for the quip, then gets to listen to Bucky’s breathing slowly even out as he falls asleep. 

It’s been a privilege to have this, Steve thinks. All of it. 


	29. Great American Dildo

“You’re the President of the United States, you can’t have a fucking dildo sitting out on your nightstand! You can’t have handcuffs and buttplugs in the drawers!”

“It wasn’t on the nightstand!” Steve is bright pink from his chest to his ears, and he’s pretty sure that he shouldn’t be able to be told off like this when he’s technically the most powerful man in the country. His position doesn’t give Natasha a moment’s pause, of course. “And technically it’s not even mine!”

“I don’t care if it has _property of Bucky Barnes_ written on it in sharpie! All it takes is one picture to end up in a tabloid and _you’re_ the one who’s going to end up dragged through the mud!” Natasha is really, really livid about this, spots of colour high on her cheeks in the way he’s seen her get a total of twice, maybe. Steve gets the feeling she’s not angry _with_ him about the maid finding their stash of toys, though. Maybe _for_ him. “You know how these homophobic assholes operate, Steve. Don’t pretend you’re that naive.”

“I’m not being naive, I’m trusting that my _staff_ have done their goddamn jobs so I’m surrounded by trustworthy people and watertight NDAs.” Steve says, pointedly, and wonders if he’s actually about to get slapped from the look on Natasha’s face. Maybe the Secret Service will save him. 

He doubts they’d win against Nat, though. 

“Keep your sex toys in a locked box, _Mr President_. I have enough scandals to field without you creating more.” She scowls politely, if such a thing is possible, and turns away to finish the conversation (conversation? Steve feels like he just got sent to the principal’s office). 

“Hey, you can’t do that! Bucky’s the only one who gets to do that!” Put the fear of god into him with _Mr President_ delivered in that tone of voice, he means, but Natasha has already stalked off down the corridor before he can finish. Her very expensive heels click around the corner and Steve gives up, scrubbing a hand over his face with a loud, expressive sigh. 

He thought when he became Commander in Chief he might end up at least a little more in charge of his own life. Maybe that really _was_ naive, because Bucky and Nat seem to be pretty firmly in control of it right now.


	30. Classified

“And this is where we keep the aliens.”

Bucky covers up his mouth quickly, pretending he’s shocked when the group of schoolkids he’s showing around break into gasps and whispers. Their teachers are trying very hard not to laugh at the back of the group, and he shoots them a wink before he continues _very_ sincerely. 

“Oops. I mean. Uh. That’s classified.” He tries not to grin when the level of whispering increases and he leads the kids further down the hall. “And in here, if we’re really lucky, we can find the Head of Security on his lunch break.”

“Does he know about the aliens?!” One little boy pipes up as Bucky pushes Clint’s office door open. Clint pauses behind his desk, cup of cold coffee stuck halfway to his mouth in surprise, before he sets his mug down and gets with the programme. 

Bucky loves him a lot, sometimes. 

“Which aliens? Did the Mars ambassador sneak out again?” He asks Bucky, standing up and addressing the kids very seriously. His resting bitchface only adds to the performance. “You seen a red guy go by here? Seven feet tall, green eyes?”

“That’s _classified,_ Mr Barton.” Bucky pats him on the shoulder and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from just beaming at the wonder on the kids’ faces. It’s silly, sure, but he loves doing these tours and creating memories for their future. Clint enjoys it just as much as he does, hence _insisting_ on being part of the show every time.

“Can we ask President Rogers about the aliens when we meet him?” A little girl pipes up, shy and wide-eyed and totally buying into their act. 

“Tell you what, I’ll ask Steve for you myself. Then he’s gotta tell the truth.” Bucky drops his voice conspiratorially and the kids look _delighted_. 

This will be the fourth time Bucky’s asked Steve publicly about ‘classified aliens’ this week. His life is pretty fucking sweet. 


	31. End of the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: discussion of dementia, mention of someone having a stroke in the past, consequences of ageing, death.

[things you said after it was over]

“Papa.”

Sarah’s voice is thick, scratchy from the tears she’s been trying to hold in while she dealt with everything. The doctors, the nurses, the press. She’s always been self-assured, confident from the moment they met her through the adoption agency, a skinny little ten year old who stared up at them with Steve’s firey blue eyes and kicked Bucky in the shin when he beat her at snap, daring them to leave her behind like everyone else. She’s all grown up now, engaged to a timid young man who worships the ground she walks on. Maybe she’ll have babies. 

Maybe they’ll have grandchildren that Steve will never see. 

Bucky’s been a fucking mess, he’s leaned so hard on their little girl to get through this whole thing. It started with Steve forgetting to pick things up at the grocery store, forgetting he’d already told Bucky what Sarah said on the phone from college, little things. A slight tremor in his left hand, already starting to freckle with age. The ten-year gap between them hadn’t been so noticeable when Steve was fifty and Bucky forty, sixty and fifty, even seventy and sixty. But then Steve forgot their daughter’s birthday, insisted she was twenty-four instead of twenty-five, and Bucky couldn’t pretend things were fine anymore. 

“Papa.” Sarah touches his shoulder, always gentle on his left. The stroke a decade ago has left him without much use of his left arm, and Steve had helped him get through the recovery without a second’s thought for himself. It’s a sheer injustice of the universe that there’s not a fucking thing Bucky could have done to help him through his own illness. The powerlessness was crushing. Still is. “They need to take him.”

“He... He’s my world.” Bucky’s voice cracks and crackles, sometimes still surprising him with the age in it. He never thinks of himself as old, but the trembling hand clinging to Steve’s pale, cold fingers is that of an elderly man. Mottled and gnarled. Alone. “How can I... I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll go home.” She’s so grown up, their girl. Bucky wants to glance at Steve and share a smile, the wonderful disbelief that they made it through everything and here they are. The end of the line. But Steve’s eyes are closed. “It’s time, Papa.”

He lets Sarah help him to his feet, feels like he’s in a dream (a nightmare) and nothing is real as he holds tight to their girl’s hand and leans down. His back creaks, his knees ache, and he doesn’t feel any of it when he brushes his lips to Steve’s, cold and pale and still. Steve forgot him long ago, and Bucky has said a lot of things to him since then, but this is still the last in a way those weren’t. 

“We did it, baby. We beat ‘em all.” He touches their foreheads together, closing his eyes until they’re young men again, smooth skin and breath in their lungs and happy. Despite all the trials, so happy. “I love you. I love you.”

He doesn’t look back when Sarah helps him down the hall, when they hold each other up to keep putting one foot in front of the other, their little family down to two. Bucky doesn’t look back because Steve isn’t there anymore, seeing him again is only in his future. 

The end of the line is a hospital corridor and their daughter’s warm hand. If only Bucky could tell him about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not the end of the fic, promise.


	32. Top of the World

Bucky is the equivalent of at least two bottles of mulled wine down, and it’s showing. He’s soft and pliant and cuddly, snuggling into Steve’s side on the couch and nosing at his cheek like a puppy. It’s not even Christmas Day, but Steve has the night off a few days before and that’s more than enough of an excuse for them to celebrate. 

“Y’know what’s awesome?” He slurs, half into Steve’s ear and half his neck. It’s kind of adorable when he’s a sloppy drunk like this, it happens so rarely that Steve feels like he should be recording it for posterity. 

“What?” So far this evening (so far the last hour, actually, Steve’s cutting his boyfriend off now for real), alligators, slipper socks, and prosthetic limbs have all been _y’know what’s awesome_ , so Steve isn’t holding his breath for something earth-shattering. He snakes his arm around Bucky’s waist and pulls him into his lap, grinning at the dead weight. He’s going to wake Bucky up with painkillers in the morning even if he’ll mock him mercilessly, he’s nice like that. 

“You. _You_ -” Bucky pokes Steve in the chest, giggling at the give because yes, he does still have quite the rack even if he doesn’t work out every day. “You tricked all those people into thinking you were straight. You’re _President_. They thought you were _straight_.”

He straight up giggles about how ridiculous he finds the concept, hoarse from talking and face buried in Steve’s shoulder to huff hot breaths through his shirt. Steve just watches Bucky’s shoulders hitch with bemusement and thinks, shit, he’d die five times over for this dork. 

“I think it’s time for bed, tough guy.” He snakes his arms around Bucky’s back and stands up, not surprised when his boyfriend clings on like a goddamn monkey. Idiot. “And I could totally be straight, I was very convincing.”

“You couldn’t even draw a straight _line_. You’re like spaghetti when it gets hot.” Bucky clings tighter as Steve heads for the bedroom, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to sleep now too because it doesn’t look like Bucky’s letting go. He pauses in the doorway when he feels a soft sigh on his neck, followed by quiet, content words. “S’the best Christmas I ever had.”

“Next year’s gonna be better.” Steve promises, crossing the room and awkwardly situating them both on the bed. He wants to give Bucky the world and dammit, he can do better than mulled wine and takeout. “Promise.”

“Can’t get better, you’re already here.” Bucky sighs happily and wriggles around to get comfy like a caterpillar. He’s an adorable drunk, at least. “M’gonna try not to throw up on you.”

“Love you too, babe.” Steve shakes his head and closes his eyes. They’re in it for the long haul, might as well enjoy it.


	33. Flowers

“Someone sent you flowers!”

Bucky stops in his tracks when he walks into the office and gets a look at his desk, not even noticing when he manages to slop coffee all over his hand from his shitty travel cup that doesn’t close properly. His tiny desk is half taken up by a huge bouquet of red roses, and the rest of the interns are watching his reaction to them with a mixture of envy and amusement. 

“Who sent them?!” Wanda is _way_ too excited about this, practically bouncing in her seat. Office gossip is like currency during the campaign, and this is the juiciest piece they’ve had for a while.

“I dunno, I just got here.” Bucky knows he’s turning as red as the flowers, setting down his cup and bag and picking up the little card attached to the bouquet. There’s no message, just a little star that makes Bucky’s face heat up even more. 

 _You’re a star_ , Steve whispered last night, stroking Bucky’s sweaty hair as it started to curl in the afterglow. _My star._

“Is it the guy?!” Wanda clocks his reaction to the card and hops up excitedly, disappointed when there’s no message to tease Bucky over. “I thought you said he was an asshole who never called you!”

“Yeah, he was.” Bucky catches sight of Steve standing in his office doorway talking to Natasha. Their eyes only meet for a second, anything else could be suspicious, but Steve continues his conversation with a massive grin on his face. Bucky ducks his head and shoves the card in his pocket for safekeeping. “Guess he ain’t so bad.”


	34. Grind

“I fucking hate those assholes.” Steve grunts, knuckles white on the headboard as he pounds carelessly into his boyfriend. Bucky twists a little and tries to create a more comfortable angle, but Steve’s bulk prevents much movement when he’s drilling him. “Blocking bills that are gonna save lives just because they don’t wanna admit they were wrong. Fucking-”

“Honey, you’re _inside me_.” Bucky claps his hand over Steve’s mouth to get his attention, shoving him away a little in discomfort. Steve’s hips stutter to a stop and he looks down at Bucky with wide-eyed embarrassment, talk about taking work home with you. “You’re also about to break my ass. If you could not take out your feelings about Congress on my asshole, that would be great.”

“Shit, sorry. Fuck, I’m a dick.” Steve pulls back and then pulls out, dropping his head onto Bucky’s shoulder with a defeated sigh. “I can’t do anything right today. Sorry.”

“C’mere.” Bucky nuzzles a kiss to his temple and rolls them over, grabbing the lube to slick Steve up again before climbing on top to sink down slowly. Steve lets his head fall back against the pillows with a low sound, hands going to Bucky’s hips automatically. “Lemme take care of you, baby.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Steve groans softly as Bucky starts to grind down on him, slow and deep just the way he needs.

“Just doing my civic duty, Mr President.” Bucky smirks when Steve straight up whimpers and his hips twitch at the title, never letting up on his steady, intimate pace. He knows what his guy needs, and he’s going to give it to him until the need to hate-fuck out his feelings is well and truly sated. 

Steve might be boss in the office, but they both know Bucky’s in charge in the bedroom. 


	35. Sneakers

“I...”

Bucky stares at the box in his hands, mouth suddenly dry as he stares at the pristine sneakers inside. They’re the real thing, the legitimate version of the cheap knock-offs currently on his feet, battered and starting to get to beyond wearing after a long, slushy winter. These things cost more than his share of the rent, more than the price of fucking him so hard he can’t walk the next day without wincing. 

Steve watches him with a little smile on his face, an expression which Bucky can’t quite read because he hasn’t been servicing the Congressman for more than a few months now. The guy doesn’t look triumphant or like he’s shoving his wealth in Bucky’s broke face... but why else would he be doing this?

“You... These are...” Bucky blinks again and looks between Steve and the shoes, mind blanking on what to say from surprise. “Are these for me?”

“Sure. I said, didn’t I?” Steve’s smile grows a little when Bucky just stares at him like he’s crazy. “Your socks were soaked last time, you can’t walk around with holes in your shoes in this kinda weather.”

“But...” Bucky shakes his head, tucking his unruly hair nervously behind his ear with a suddenly unsteady hand. “You can’t just give me stuff. You can’t spend money like...”

“Is it against the rules?” Steve asks seriously, like he doesn’t want to get Bucky in trouble with the escort agency if they find out he’s been taking gifts. Bucky shakes his head mutely, feeling surreal in this fancy hotel room holding the most expensive thing he’s ever likely to own. “Then they’re for you. No strings, just wanted to help out.”

“Steve...”

“It’s my money and I can do what I want with it. I want to spoil you a bit.” He puts his hand firmly on Bucky’s shoulder and kisses his forehead - a strangely intimate gesture which makes them both freeze for a moment before Bucky huffs a nervous laugh and the spell is broken. 

“Thanks. Really. I mean.” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief and leans up to kiss Steve properly, soft and grateful and still that lingering, strange intimacy that’s beginning to feel too close for hooker and client. He slips into his best seduction mode when they pull apart to ruin it, because there’s no way he can afford to catch feelings here. “I better find a way to thank you, huh?”

“Oh, I can think of a few.” Steve smirks and starts to undo his belt, and Bucky relaxes as he sets the shoebox aside because this is business as usual. 

Blowjobs he can do. Feelings are way too complicated. 


	36. Roasting

“And he never even called you?”

“No! I was head over heels and thought we were gonna start dating and everything, and then poof! He fucking ghosted on me.”

“Wow, what a jerk.”

“Is it time for the monthly Rogers Roast Club meet up already?” Steve sets his briefcase down wearily and grabs a beer from the fridge. Sam and Bucky are clearly several drinks ahead of him, sprawled out on the couch with Die Hard playing forgotten in the background. 

It’s not the _official_ title of their hangouts, but considering they spent ninety percent of the time talking shit about Steve, it should be. 

“You never told me you ghosted this poor, lovesick child.” Sam raises his eyebrows in accusation as Steve leans down to kiss Bucky hello. 

“Look. I was. It was a weird time.” He sighs and flops into an armchair when it becomes clear nobody’s going to make room for him on the couch, loosening his tie gratefully. “I was confused.”

“You weren’t confused about trying to fuck me on the campaign trail.” Bucky snorts, and Steve rolls his eyes because the last thing he needs is for Sam to have more ammunition. The guy’s already a roast machine. “That CNN guy almost caught us in a _literal_ closet that one time.”

“Look-”

“Oh did he do that thing where he thinks he’s being slick, getting all up in your personal space ‘casually’?”

“Listen-”

“He still does that! There’s an office pool going on how long it takes him to do it on TV.”

“Oh my god, and that’s our Commander in Chief right there. A homosexual slave to his dick.”

“I fucking hate both of you.” Steve groans and grabs a pillow to hide his face, unable to take the embarrassment anymore. “Be nice to me, I try so hard.”

“Yeah, to get inside me all hours of the day and night.” He can hear the smirk in Bucky’s voice and doesn’t bother looking up to give him the finger. It doesn’t matter if he points it at Sam by accident - they both deserve it. “Did I tell you about the time he nearly caused an international incident at Buckingham Palace?”

“Wait, hold on, I need more beer for this.”

“Kill me.” Steve mutters, thankful when a laughing Bucky throws a blanket over him and lets him hide more effectively. 

Maybe he’ll just nap until the roasting session is over. That sounds like a good idea right about now. 


	37. Shop Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughtless use of homophobic language in this part and subsequent discussion.

“I’m not making a speech standing next to that cocksucker.” Steve grumbles into the phone, tilting his head to rest against the back of his chair. It’s after hours and most of the campaign staff have left, which makes it the perfect time to conduct the kind of shady business politics runs on but would chafe with the more ideological members of his team. 

His choice of words would be less ironic if he didn’t have his dick in Bucky’s mouth right now. 

Bucky looks up as he swallows around the head, on his knees under Steve’s desk where he can’t be seen from the door. Steve stifles a groan as he tightens his fist in Bucky’s hair and holds him down for a second before letting him up for air. Those fucking eyes. That fucking mouth. 

“Tell him he can fucking blow me.” Steve tries to concentrate on whatever Congressman Reeves is trying to talk him into on the other end of the line, some ridiculous campaigning opportunity which would endear him to the ultra-conservatives but probably alienate his core voter base - what a joke. “That faggot would thank me for the fucking privilege if I-”

He trails off abruptly when Bucky shoves his chair back and gets out from under the desk, scrubbing his hand across his mouth as he walks briskly out of the office. Steve - dick still hard and now sitting there in the breeze - has never been more confused in his life.  

“I gotta call you back, Sean. I got a, uh, constituent thing.” He hangs up and heads after Bucky, thankfully remembering to do his pants up first. 

He catches up with his not-boyfriend outside the elevators. Bucky already has his coat on and clearly intends to leave as quickly as possible, for some reason. He scowls and presses the call button again when he sees Steve come around the corner.

“Hey, what the fuck was that for?” Steve grabs his shoulder, not sure if he should be concerned or irritated. It’s not like Bucky _has_ to blow him, but a little warning he’s about to be left hanging would be nice.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t feel like sucking you off while you talked about faggots.” Bucky’s voice is clipped, strained with feigned politeness as he keeps his eyes forward and mashes the elevator button until Steve grabs his arm to make him stop.

Oh. 

“Aw c’mon, Buck. You know I didn’t mean anything-”

“Do _not_ use that fucking word.” He finally makes eye contact when he rounds on Steve, and Steve kind of wishes he hadn’t because Bucky can be scary when he gets icy like this. 

“It’s just shop talk, Jesus.” Bucky opens his mouth but Steve cuts him off, ears burning because he knows he’s fucked up but doesn’t want to admit it. “Anyway, I’m kind of allowed to say it.”

“Not when people think you’re another fucking frat boy!” Bucky bursts out, quickly lowering his voice as a door closes somewhere in the building, reminding them they’re not alone. “It is _not_ shop talk, it’s the last thing I ever heard my Dad say to me. It’s the reason we have to sneak around. It’s so scary you don’t even think it applies to you. You wanna say that kinda shit, you sack up and lose the fucking closet privileges and stand out here with the rest of us, or you keep your fucking mouth shut.” 

The silence between them is thick enough to cut with a knife after the rant ends, tension running high as Bucky curls his hands into fists to stop them shaking. Steve can’t believe how angry he is about this, but the shame curling up his spine tells him he’s in the wrong here. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I won’t say it anymore.” He apologises weakly, as the empty elevator arrives and Bucky shakes out of his grip to hold the door. “I... I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“You never had to, Steve. You don’t even think you’re queer.” Bucky shakes his head and steps into the elevator, anger starting to curdle into sadness. “I’m gonna go home. I gotta think about some things.”

“Wait, hold on a-” But Bucky pushes the door close button and Steve can’t grab it fast enough. He slams his hand against the metal as Bucky leaves, frustration winning out over composure. 

Wanda ducks back around the corner when he pulls himself together enough to head back to his office, staying out of sight in case the Congressman realises he’s been overheard. Of all the office gossip, this was something she didn’t expect to stumble across - if it didn’t just end in front of her, that is.


	38. Ellen

“Yes to Ellen, no to the View. You’re not getting asked about the President’s dick on TV.”

“Michelle did the View.” Bucky grumbles, making a note on his pad despite his reluctance. He’s spent the last few years being responsible for someone else’s schedule, it makes him a little itchy to have his planned for him.

“She had something to promote. And you are _definitively_ not as graceful under pressure as Michelle.” Natasha’s voice is dry as a bone, but Bucky still knows when he’s being made fun of. “The Late Show will confirm by Tuesday, it’s just screening questions that they’re dragging their feet on.”

“I can handle some awkward questions.” Bucky rolls his eyes. Ever since they came out, he’s been handled with kid gloves even more than Steve is. It’s very annoying for someone who’s always been fiercely independent. 

“How did you and Steve get together?” Nat fires back, always testing since he became a subject rather than a colleague. They’ve drilled the story inside out and back to front, but there can never be too much rehearsal. 

“We met when I interned on his campaign. I joined straight out of college.” He smiles back, smooth and practised by now. 

“An ex-boyfriend told us you were an emancipated minor, so how did you pay your way through college?” Natasha pushes, hard in a way she never gets with Bucky. He understands why, but it still stings a little. “And you’ve previously made statements about meeting the President _in_ college, how did that come about? Or was that a lie?”

“I didn’t-” He flounders for a second, flustered, and freezes up groping for words. Then he glares at Natasha before dropping his head into his hands. He’s going to fuck up on national TV and screw things up for Steve. Again. “Fuck, I’m not ready for this.”

“That’s why we’re screening the questions.” Nat pats him on the head, and it genuinely does make him feel a little bit better in spite of the butterflies in his stomach that make him want to barf. 

“I’m scared, Tasha.” He admits, quietly. “What if they find out about the escorting? What if I cause some kinda political shitshow? I already made him come out when he wasn’t ready and-”

“You’re going to be fine, we’ll hold your hand the whole way.” Natasha promises, uncharacteristically soft. “News cycles move on. You’ll be invited on daytime cooking shows nobody watches sooner than you think.”

“Yeah.” Bucky steels himself and lifts his head again, blowing out a fortifying breath and throwing himself back into the game. “I want to go over the backstory again, from the beginning. I need to make sure I don’t sound canned.”

Natasha nods and flips back through her notes to the start. It’s going to be an arduous process to ‘launch’ Steve and Bucky to the world as a couple, but hopefully it’ll all be worth it. 


	39. Spill the Beans

"…so you never even fucking told me?!"

Steve ducks the plate aimed squarely at his head, wincing when it smashes against the wall. Explaining this to housekeeping is going to be… interesting.

"Buck, c'mon!" Steve follows him when he storms out of the kitchenette, crossing their private quarters and heading towards the bedroom. He's seen Bucky pissed plenty of times, but he's never seen his boyfriend this livid.

He wasn't supposed to find out about the almost-leaked photos. Steve is going to be firing someone when he finds out who spilled the beans.

"All those people have seen me like that! Banner and Stark and fucking _Ross_." Bucky is halfway into the closet when Steve catches up with him, hauling out a familiar black sports bag and throwing it on the bed angrily. "And you just decided I didn't need to know?"

"I didn't want you to be embarrassed." Steve cringes as he says it, because it sounds so fucking lame in the face of how explosively things have turned out.

Bucky huffs out a derisive laugh, shoving clothes into the bag like it's personally offended him. Steve wants to point out that he can't go anywhere, at least not without a secret service detail, but he holds back because he's pretty sure that might get him punched right now.

"Well, good job Mr President." Bucky gestures jerkily to himself, limbs tight and face twisted like he's not sure if he's going to scowl or cry. "I'm fucking embarrassed!"

"Buck, we handled it." Steve tries to move the bag away and defuse the situation, but Bucky snatches it back viciously. "The pictures never came out, and you were still shaky after that reporter tracked down your parents. I didn't want to give you something else to worry about."

"It's been _months_." There's the threat of cracking in his voice and Steve could smack himself, he really could. This is the most spectacular backfire he's experienced for a while. "Banner doesn't look me in the eye anymore, Hill vets my phone every chance she gets, even Barton treats me weird. I thought I was going nuts!"

"I'm _sorry_." Something about his tone gives Bucky pause, just enough for Steve to try and get his apology out. They're only standing on opposite sides of the bed, but they might as well be miles apart. "I fucked up, I should have told you. I just, I don't get the chance to protect you from many things, but I thought I could take this one on. You have to deal with so much shit because of who I am—"

"I've been dealing with shit because of who _I_ am my entire life. I can handle it." Some of the heat has gone out of Bucky's voice, but only a little. He's got a defeated look to him now the rage has subsided, an expression Steve remembers from a late night at the campaign office and arguing in front of the elevators. "I get what you were trying to do, Steve, but I'm mad as hell about how you did it."

"I know." Steve's jaw is set, ready to take whatever's coming to him. Maybe this is fighting like adults, he doesn't know. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

Silence stretches between them, fragile as spun sugar as they just look at each other. Bucky finally breaks the tension, grabbing the bag back and tossing it back into the closet. Steve lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, stay of execution received.

"I'm going out." His voice is tight, sadness lingering around his eyes that even his carefully blank face can't mask, but he's not throwing things anymore. "Feeling like more trouble than I'm worth right now."

"I love you." Steve says it quietly, afraid to make things worse. They'll talk about it when Bucky's calmed down, address the issue properly and figure out how to do things better next time, but no valuable discussion can happen right now. They're on the same page with that, at least.

"I know." Bucky nods, not looking at his boyfriend. "I love you too."

Steve calls after him when he reaches the door, determined that something not-awful will come out of this.

"Buck?" His composure has already started to crack when he looks back over his shoulder, and Steve makes it quick because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass the man he loves _again_. "Who told you?"

"Same guy who tried to make me quit the campaign." That's all he gets out before his voice cracks and he leaves to lick his wounds in private. As much privacy as he gets these days, anyway.

Steve has his phone out before the door has even closed. Ross isn't going to know what hit him.


	40. Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-explicit mention of past, consensual underage in this chapter.

"First found the place at fourteen, maybe. Didn't actually work up the guts to go until I was sixteen."

"Sixteen?!" Steve gapes, drying his hands as he leans against the sink in his boyfriend's crappy kitchen. Bucky goes back to scrolling through his clandestine Twitter feed (Natasha made him delete his public social media accounts when it started to look like Steve might have a chance of actually winning this election) and resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Steve doesn't get it, why would he?

"Jesus, Buck. That's..." He's got that tone in his voice, the one that sometimes makes Bucky feel small, like he's an impostor in his good-boy navy suit and starched collar - these professional surroundings, this professional life - like he's not quite cut out to be a real person yet. "That's abuse. You were-"

Bucky holds up his free hand, sticking up his fingers one by one as he counts things off. He never wanted to have this conversation, never wanted to address anything that happened in his past before he came to New York at _all_ (let alone with Steve), but the news that he's being background-checked has effectively forced his hand. Steve needs to know about potential scandals coming from the people he's close to before they happen, and _if_ he ever gets outed and  _if_ Bucky is ever connected to him, then anonymous hook-ups with older men in public parks and bathrooms...

Yeah, that's got scandal written all over it. 

"Technically, yes, I was underage." He takes Steve's silence as permission to continue and ploughs on, not looking at his boyfriend in case he finds something worse than misunderstanding in his expression. He can take judgement, even disapproval, but Steve's disgust would be too much to handle and maintain his composure. One of them needs to be professional about this, and Steve's not exactly known for his level head outside the office. "Does the idea of a kid hooking up like that today concern the fuck out of me? Absolutely. But did anyone force _me_ into anything? No."

"Buck, you couldn't con-"

"I know." Bucky swallows and tucks his hair behind his ear, trying to word this correctly so Steve doesn't get the wrong idea. "Legally, I know. But I grew up in a small town, we didn't have a TV, I had no sex ed... I didn't even know other gay people existed. So finding out people did that... it didn't feel abusive, it was important for me. It was the first time I knew I wasn't alone in the world."

Steve doesn't say anything to that. Tensing up in the silence, Bucky finally chances a look up from his phone, unconsciously bracing for impact. The anxiety must show on his face, because Steve's initially concerned expression softens as he finally discards the dishcloth he's been worrying at and comes to sit next to Bucky on the couch. 

"I'm not judging you, or whatever." He promises, resting his hand on the back of Bucky's neck and toying with the wispy strands of hair at his nape. They've had a rare afternoon off from the campaign and Bucky's clearly been working himself up about something all day, so Steve's just glad he's spitting it out now rather than stewing over it all week when they're ramping up his public appearances. "I just wish you didn't have to do... to go through that."

"I didn't go  _through_ anything Steve, don't pity me." Bucky's instinct is to be irritated, but he takes a breath and wills the feeling away. He's never been good at letting anyone care for him - he's had boyfriends, sure, but they all either ended up as disasters, like Brock, or friends who knew to keep a healthy distance, like T'Challa - but Steve seems determined to try. Bucky's not sure he's worth the trouble, but he's already learned there's no point trying to change Steve's mind once he's decided to do something. "Sorry. I know what you mean."

He's not expecting Steve to say anything, figuring he'll change the subject because he's uncomfortable and find a way to keep Bucky's background checks away from all eyes but his (or just straight up dump him and fire him from the campaign, a nagging part of Bucky's mind whispers), so looks over in surprise when his boyfriend actually speaks up.

"I... I guess I never felt like I needed that community, growing up." Steve fumbles out awkwardly, no longer used to talking about himself candidly after years of pre-written, public-friendly statements. He really looks like he's trying not to squirm away from what he's saying as Bucky watches, quietly astonished. "I never tried to find it. Being gay was just... something I tried not to think about, I guess. The last thing I would've wanted was to be around anyone like me, I'd be scared they'd be able to tell."

He picks at his nails self-consciously for a second, glancing sideways at Bucky and pinking up at the ears when he finds him looking. 

"What?"

"I think that's the first time I've ever heard you call yourself gay." He fights the urge to smile when the blush spreads to Steve's neck, because this conversation has turned from shitty to something strongly resembling positive on a dime. "Second, maybe. I don't think you've ever actually said you  _grew up_ gay before."

"Look... I mean... We're not talking about me." Another familiar look - the confused-puppy face he makes when he's trying to wheedle out of a corner he's backed himself into - emerges, and Steve shuffles guiltily down the couch like an inch or two of distance will hide him. Their relationship can be weird at times, given their careers, but Bucky really loves this idiot. "I'm not mad about the hooking up thing, okay? You got anything else you're worried about with this vetting stuff?"

"Uh..." Bucky's good mood stumbles slightly, but he keeps on top of it. "There's a couple things I don't really wanna tell you about. Nothing bad, it's just ancient history I don't wanna think about, but it might come up."

"Talk to Nat, then. Or Ross, if you can stand it." Steve snorts at the suggestion even as he makes it, and Bucky's face gets a little frozen as he determinedly doesn't react, but it's glossed over quickly when Steve leans over to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek. "You don't have to tell me everything, just protect yourself."

"And the campaign." Bucky adds, like he's a Very Serious Committed Employee, and Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, and the campaign."

"Well, there is one thing." Bucky bites his lip and leans closer, lowering his voice like it's a secret. With his lips next to Steve's ear, he whispers: "I got this boyfriend, and I dunno how to tell him he's a huge dork."

He ends up on his ass beside the couch, laughing as Steve bats him away with his foot and pretends to pout about the insult. With the tension between them gone now things are out in the open, Bucky almost wonders why he got so worried about Steve knowing about his past. That part of it, at least, because some things are better left undisturbed. He's pretty sure he never made enough impact in his hometown for anyone to remember him, so he figures nothing too scandalous is left to bite them unexpectedly in the ass.

When the exposé on his family is published, three months after Steve is outed in the White House, Bucky wonders how the hell he could have been so naive. Nothing stays buried, not when the world is digging.


	41. Back to Haunt You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions of homophobia, homophobic violence, and physical abuse

"It can't be _that_ bad."

"It's that bad," Natasha looks frazzled, which is never a good sign, and the hair on Steve's neck stands up because shit, this really isn't good. "Do you know  _ anything  _ about his family?"

"I mean… he doesn't like to talk about it," Steve hurriedly tries to think over every anecdote he's heard about Bucky's past and… shit, he really doesn't know anything about his family at all. Nat called him out of a meeting for this, so he's already on high alert because that never happens. "It can't be… he's been background checked. You background checked him more than once, even."

"It seems as though Bucky fudged some information he gave us, possibly unintentionally," the grim line of her mouth says it was more than fudged. "So you didn't know his dad was charged with murder in the eighties?"

Nat says it so flatly that it takes Steve a second to process the words, and when the meaning registers he can't do anything but blink. 

"What?"

"He got off on a gay panic defence. Said the guy hit on him, so he beat him to death," Natasha puts the printout of the article in front of Steve, who can't make himself read past the headline because his mind has turned to static. "But the evidence points to it being a hate crime. It wasn't the only gay bashing he was involved in, just the first time he killed someone."

"He…" 

"The guy was also charged with physically abusing at least one of his kids, but again, got off," Natasha taps the article with one manicured finger, looking equal parts angry and concerned. "This should never have been able to get out. Bucky should have told us."

"How did we miss it?" Steve is suddenly, blindingly angry. How dare this be dragged into the light when Bucky wanted it left alone so badly? How could his team have missed this information, even if Bucky wanted to hide it? Nat hesitates, and that's enough for Steve to demand answers. "How?"

"According to the article, the wife left and remarried. It's not clear whether the surname change extended to the kids, but it looks like Bucky's birth certificate and all his current information don't match up because of an admin error somewhere along the line. He might not even know," she shakes her head, face twisted in genuine regret. This is a massive fuck up on their part, but that's not why she's upset. "We missed it. We shouldn't have, but we did."

"Fuck!" Steve spits out, shoving his chair back and standing up suddenly with such force it makes Natasha jump. "Where is he?"

"You have a meeting-"

"I don't care. Where is he?" There's no President Rogers here, just Steve in grip of his most righteous, wounded anger. How could they have let this happen?

"He… Clint is trying to find out," Natasha says it like this is the worst day of her working life, and it might well turn out to be. "He slipped his detail and left."

"Fuck!" It might not be the first time Steve's punched a wall, but it's the first time he's done it in the White House. "Fuck."


End file.
